


Five Shalle Ryde

by AughtPunk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are Warlock Dowling's Parents, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gaiman can't have him back, Happy Ending, He's my Son now, Ineffable Godsons, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, Projecting all my issues on Warlock, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Warlock Deserves Better, Warlock Gets Friends, Warlock Little Kid Crushes on Adam, Warlock POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AughtPunk/pseuds/AughtPunk
Summary: Warlock Dowling writes himself back into the narrative.(Or: The story of how The Wrong Boy finds his true family, makes the friends he always wanted, and earns his rightful place at the End of the World)
Relationships: Anathema Device & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale & Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Madame Tracy & Warlock Dowling, Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling, Newton Pulsifer & Warlock Dowling, Warlock Dowling & Adam Young, Warlock Dowling & Brother Francis, Warlock Dowling & The Them (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Comments: 53
Kudos: 243
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Sunday, August 24th 2019

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Good Omens Big Bang!](https://goodomensbigbang.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Art will be included once I figure out how to do that on Ao3 so hang on tight!

Warlock Dowling hated the sound of church bells. 

If one was to ask him why he would stare off into space for a second before answering that they were too loud. If there weren’t any adults around he may have even indulge in saying they were too damn loud, savoring the way the forbidden word felt in his mouth. He would then do everything in his power to change the topic. Perhaps he would start boasting about his video game skills. Maybe talk about how dumb his parents were for making him do chores. If all else failed Warlock would perform his finishing move of loudly declaring that this was stupid, the person asking the question was stupid, and he was going to go home to do something not-stupid. 

This never happened of course because no one would ever ask an eleven-year-old boy about his thoughts on church bells. Which was good. Warlock didn’t want to think about church bells. He didn’t want to think about rose-filled gardens or storms so powerful it felt as though the world was ending. He under absolutely no circumstances wanted to think about stars and the darkness between them. Warlock was absolutely not thinking about any of those things because his thoughts were taken up by a rather pressing issue.

This was not his bedroom.

The sound of church bells had woken Warlock up and, in retrospect, that should have been his first clue something was wrong. See, the thing with church bells is that there’s almost certainly a church attached to them. And churches as a whole don’t tend to suddenly pop up overnight. So for Warlock to be woken up by the sound of church bells for the first time in his life after it never happening was a bit odd. Warlock had then proceeded to open his eyes and quickly discovered the church mystery was the least of his issues.

As previously stated, this was not Warlock’s bedroom. It was much smaller for one. The walls were covered in colorful posters, which his mother would have never allowed, and a fuzzy bathrobe hung on the back of the door. There was barely enough room for his bed, desk, and a well worn bean bag chair with a Nintendo Switch haphazardly laying on it. Warlock did not own a Nintendo Switch. Switches, he would gladly tell anyone listening, were for babies who couldn’t handle PC gaming. Warlock’s stomach twisted in a funny way as he slipped out of bed and walked over to the bean bag chair. He picked up the handheld console and turned it over in his hands. He found his name written on the back of the blue joycon in permanent marker, in his handwriting. There were smudges on the red joycon which suggested there had been a name there before but wore off from use.

This was his Nintendo Switch.

That he owned. That he _shared_.

Warlock had never shared anything in his entire life.

“Warlock! Breakfast!”

The sound of his mother’s voice was enough to shake Warlock from his thoughts. His Mom! If there was anyone who knew what was going on it would be his Mom! He dropped the Switch, slipped on the kid-sized bathrobe hanging on the bedroom door and bolted from his room, making it halfway down the stairs before his brain caught up to the fact this wasn’t his home, either. Everything was cramped. Small. Covered in doilies. There was a cuckoo clock on the wall. That last one stuck out the most as his father had made it very clear over a number of vacations that he would choose death over staying anywhere with a cuckoo clock. His father said they were an insult to his masculinity. 

Mom. His Mom would know what was going on. Warlock didn’t have to search for long as the kitchen was just off the living room instead of being, well, wherever the kitchen in his old house was located. Probably by the servants’ quarters. Whatever hope Warlock had about getting his questions answered were dashed upon the rocks the second he walked into the kitchen. The scene that laid before him was baffling. Impossible! Against everything Warlock had ever known! 

His father was cooking.

“Ah! There’s my boy!” His father beamed at him from over by the well-stained stovetop, “come on and grab a seat! It’s Sunday! And you know what that means!”

Warlock did not know what that meant.

“Pancakes!” His father waved at the kitchen table with his battle-worn spatula. There was in fact a plate of half-raw half-burnt pancakes next to a bottle of syrup that at no point been part of a tree. “Eat up boy! There’s plenty more where that came from!”

Warlock couldn’t hear his father over the pounding in his ears. Wrong. This was wrong. His Dad didn’t cook. His dad didn’t call him ‘my boy’. His Dad would never wear an apron with a cartoon pig cooking hotdogs on it. Wrong. Wrong all wrong. With his eyes locked on the pancakes Warlock managed to get out a weak “Where’s Mom?”

“Down at the farmer’s market! Said she had to get there before all of the good vegetables were picked over. If she can get her hands on some bell peppers I thought we could have stir fry tonight. Sound good?” His father finally looked over at Warlock, his expression going from parental joy to parental worry. “Warlock? Are you okay?” 

“Mephm.” Warlock got out after a short struggle with his own voice. His throat was tight, making it hard to get even the most simple word out. 

His father sighed and turned the stove top off before turning to his son. He knelt down enough to meet Warlock’s eyes. “What’s wrong son?”

Everything, Warlock wanted to say. What he said sounded a bit more like ‘nupgh’. 

“I know what it is,” His father’s expression softened around the edges, “this is about taking your phone away, isn’t it?”

Phone! Warlock hadn’t even thought about his phone! Phone meant internet, it meant contacts, it meant answers! “Yes!” Warlock blurted out. 

His father squeezed his shoulder in what Warlock assumed was a fatherly gesture. “Son, I know you’re upset, but you need to understand. What you and your friends did yesterday was out of line. You can’t get your phone back until you learn to be more responsible.” 

Out of everything his father had said Warlock’s brain had latched onto the one that stuck out the most. Maybe if he had taken the time to mull over his father’s words he would have asked a more pressing question than the one that came out. “Friends?”

“Yes yes, you know,” His father floundered a bit before settling on, “them! Those troublemakers! Your mother and I are thrilled you’ve made friends but we’re worried that they’re a bunch of bad apples.” 

“But--”

“No buts!” His father stood back up, letting out that half-sigh adults always made right before their resolve crumbled. “How about this? You help me with some chores and maybe we can go to the circus once it opens up tomorrow. Then you, your mother and I can talk about your phone. Sounds fair?”

“Gheff.” Said Warlock, which was apparently enough to get a smile from his Dad.

“Great! Stay right there!” 

His father left the kitchen only to return with a small basket with a cloth draped over the top. He handed to Warlock, who almost dropped it immediately from the small basket’s unexpected weight. “I want you to run down to Jasmine Cottage with these zucchini, no, these _courgettes_ and give them to the nice woman staying there. Maybe you could also apologize for calling her a witch? Hmm?”

“Scush.” 

“That’s my boy! And don’t worry, I’ll make sure there’s plenty of pancakes waiting for you when you get back.” His father gave Warlock a hard pat on the back to not only signify that the conversation was over, but to also point Warlock in the direction of the front door. Static buzzed between his ears, numbing the world in an act of pure self-defense as Warlock slipped on his sneakers and walked out of the house with basket in hand. The door snapped shut behind him, leaving Warlock on the front steps with nothing but a bunch of zucchini-- _courgettes--_ and three very important facts.

Fact one, he was still in his bathrobe and pajamas. 

Fact two, he had no idea where he was and had no idea where Jasmine Cottage was located.

Fact three, which he latched onto tight as a mental lifeline, was that the woman who lived in Jasmine Cottage was a witch. Nanny always told him that if anything weird happened Warlock should find the closest witch, occultist or general strange person and, in Nanny’s words, ‘make them deal with it’. At the time Warlock thought it was silly. Why would he ever go ask a witch for help if Nanny was with him?

But she wasn’t. Not anymore.

Warlock tightened his grip around the basket’s handle and marched off in a direction he hoped was witch-ward. 

***

Warlock didn’t have to go far from his not-home to discover a fourth fact: he was in Tadfield. He had a suspicion when he found a copy of The Tadfield Times on a nearby bench, and was able to confirm it shortly after wandering into the town proper. Every single shop there--all six of them--was Tadfield-something. Tadfield Post Office. Tadfield Bank. Four other stores he couldn’t be bothered with. They were all closed anyway. Probably off at that church that woke him up. At least it meant there wasn’t anyone to see him walking around in his pajamas. 

While Warlock searches Tadfield for clues let’s take a minute to talk about the boy himself. Warlock, you see, is Different. How could he not with a name like that? Even if he was an average boy with an average life his name would have been enough to tip the scale over from normal to odd. But Warlock had not lived an average life. He was American by blood, British born and raised, rich enough to have no understanding of how money worked and was a Twitch channel away from dedicating the rest of his life to streaming Fortnite. This was enough to push the scale down from ‘that kid in your class with the weird name’ to ‘the kid in your class who ended up creating some sort of social media app and retired by age thirty, that right bastard’. 

There was more to Warlock than his family and video game skills of course. For starters he was very good at math. He loved reading books far above his age level and, much to the surprise of his tutors, understood them. He was rather clever when it came to puzzles and never met a riddle he didn’t like. His taste in music could be described as baffling at best and disturbing and worst. His most favorite food in the whole world was honey almond cake and he hated radishes with a passion that not even he fully understood. He knew the name of every star and constellation in the night sky. If anyone ever prodded they would discover that Warlock knew a shocking amount about religion for a child part of a non-religious family. Warlock was also very good at detecting magic. 

Warlock didn’t know it was magic, or that he was detecting it, or any combination of words that would make him sound more like his namesake. He always thought of it as that funny feeling he got sometimes. A tug in his stomach that he couldn’t help but follow. Warlock never talked about it because it never occurred to him that it was unusual. So he followed the tug unaware that it was this that made him Different, with a capital letter. This caused his path through the quiet town to form a rather interesting pattern where he walked by the same house six times without noticing. He might have gone well into the double digits if he wasn’t suddenly smacked upside the head by a small stuffed stegosaurus. 

The ballistic-grade dinosaur bounced off Warlock’s skull and landed right at his feet. Rubbing his head Warlock looked for the source of the sudden attack and found it almost instantly. There was a boy his age learning a second floor window of the rather plain house Warlock found himself next to. The boy had the smug face of someone who not only had thrown a stuffed dinosaur with perfect accuracy but took pleasure in doing so. Warlock grabbed the dinosaur off the ground and shook it in the other boy’s direction.

“Why’d you throw a dumb dinosaur at me?!” Warlock shouted just loud enough to ensure the boy would hear him, but not loud enough that adults would come running. It wasn’t like he hadn’t caused his own share of mischief growing up.

“Why are you walking around in your dumb pajamas?” The boy asked in return.

“Because I’m,” Warlock stopped himself. There was no way he could tell the other kid the truth. At least not without the boy thinking he was crazy and then probably going off to tell all of his friends about the crazy new kid that walks around in his pajamas and swears he used to live in a mansion. That being said, he always felt bad about lying (no matter what Nanny used to say). Luckily for Warlock, Brother Francis had taught him the masterful art of not lying, but not telling the complete truth either. “Dad took my phone away and now I gotta run chores so I can get it back.”

The boy gave an understanding nod back. “Yeah. I get that. I’m grounded.”

“Your Dad took your phone away too?”

“Something like that.” The boy leaned out of the window a little bit more. “You’re new here, right?”

Warlock nodded. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. “Name’s Warlock.”

“ _Warlock?_ ”

Oh no. Warlock knew that tone. He puffed out his chest and did his best to look intimidating. “Yeah! You got a problem with it?”

“Your name. Is. WICKED!” The boy’s eyes sparkled with joy as he leaned out the window just enough to be considered dangerous. “Are you a wizard? Or are you more like a male witch? Do you know Anathema? She’s a witch too but she’s a good witch so it’s okay! Wait, are you an evil witch? Do you make cows sick? Is that why you moved to Tadfield? Did you have to move to a new town because you used dark magic to kill a bunch of cows?”

Warlock paused his inner struggle--over telling the truth verses confirming that he was a wizard--to interrupt the boy’s stream of questions. “Wait! The witch, Anasomehing, does she live in Jasmine cottage? I’m supposed to go there and give the witch, uh, this” He held the basket of zucchini-- _courgettes--_ up, “these! Can you tell me where it is?”

“Even better! Hold on!” The boy vanished from the window, leaving Warlock alone and confused yet again. 

Warlock looked down at the stuffed dinosaur in his hand and held it up to his face. The toy certainly looked well loved, and a little chewed on too. He wasn’t allowed to have dinosaur toys growing up. In fact, that had been one of the few things Nanny and Brother Francis had agreed on. He didn’t care really. He liked space stuff more anyway.

“Dumbasaur.” Warlock said to the toy, “You’re dumb. This town is dumb. Zucchinis are dumb. My Dad being weird and nice and Mom going to a market instead of sending a maid is like, super dumb! I just want to go back--”

The words died on Warlock’s lips as he was struck with a sudden realization. Waking up in a strange bedroom, dealing with a strange Dad, and wandering around an even stranger town had distracted him from the fact that he couldn’t remember what happened yesterday. He remembered his birthday. And a very boring plane ride. And being someplace hot and somehow even more boring than the plane. But after that his brain skipped ahead to this morning. 

Sunday, he thought, his Weird-Dad said it was Sunday. It should have been Saturday. Or Friday. Thursday? Not Sunday. 

“Warlock!” 

Warlock didn’t notice that the boy had joined him on the street until that moment. He was also rocking the sockless-sneakers-pajama look but opted for a raincoat instead of a bathrobe. Trailing behind him was a small black-and-white dog that was doing its absolute best to look tough, just in case Warlock tried anything. The boy stopped a few feet away from Warlock to catch his breath. “Ready?”

Warlock looked the boy over. “Aren’t you grounded?”

“Grounded from doing fun stuff. This is a chore. Come on, I’ll give you a tour since you’re new here.” The boy grabbed the basket’s handle and grinned at Warlock, only for his lips to fade into a worried frown. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“Uh.” Warlock wanted to ask the boy if he didn’t remember yesterday either. Or if he was in the wrong town too. Or if he also was getting this weird deja vu vibe. Instead Warlock wiggled the dinosaur in his hand. 

The boy responded by grabbing the dinosaur and throwing it over his shoulder at the dog, who caught it perfectly. A move that Warlock would admit was kind of cool. “Oh! Sorry, I’m Adam! This here is Dog.”

Dog sat down and did their best to show off what a good dog they were.

“Oh. Uh, nice to meet you Adam. And hello there, Brother Dog.”

“Brother Dog?”

Warlock paused. “Sister Dog?”

Adam looked down at Dog only to offer Warlock a shrug in response. “I have no idea.”

***

“--and over there is a river that we used to fish in but Anathema told me there’s a serious over-fishing issue so--”

Adam mentioned Anathema a lot.

“--had to climb up after him! Luckily Pepper didn’t mind at all. She’s always up for adventures--”

He mentioned a girl named Pepper a lot, too.

“--told Brian there was no way we could fit on it. Well, Wensleydale’s exact words were Actually Brian, there’s no way that raft could support the combined weight--”

And Brian and Wensleydale. 

“--on his hind legs! It was amazing! I keep trying to get him to do it again but--”

Adam talked about his dog--which they agreed Warlock could call Brother Dog for the time being--too. As they strolled through the small town Adam kept adding more and more people to his stories. His parents, teachers, adults that liked him and adults that didn’t, and the other kids in his school. And their parents. He probably knew the names of all of their pets, too. Adam knew _everybody_. 

(Of all of the strange things that had happened that morning somehow that was the one Warlock had the hardest time wrapping his head around. Waking up to find the world totally different was one thing. Knowing the teacher’s first name? Unspeakable.)

Warlock let Adam’s excited rambling wash over him as he focused on adjusting his mental list of facts instead. 

Fact one was still the same. Pajamas, sneakers. 

Fact two amended: He was in Tadfield, and was heading in the direction of Jasmine Cottage.

Fact three confirmed: According to Adam Anathema was not only a witch, but a super-smart super-powerful witch that could tell the future and lets him borrow cool magazines that talk about aliens and whales and stuff. Adam stressed several times about how cool this Anathema witch was.

Fact four was now unnecessary as per being combined with fact two, so Warlock replaced it with a new fact: being around Adam felt weird. Not bad, but not good either. The tug in his stomach that Warlock always blindly followed felt like it was spinning around in circles. Every time it seemed to latch onto a path Adam would point them in the opposite direction. But Warlock didn’t want to lose whatever lead he had, so he ignored the feeling and followed Adam instead.

(There was of course more to the feeling than Warlock’s inner magic compass being screwed up. Warlock wouldn’t be able to put a name to that feeling for at least another six years. He would then, at that point in the future, look up from his Math homework and curse loud enough to make his tutor jump. But that was later. Right now it was just part of a very strange day.)

“--this way!”

Adam grabbed onto Warlock’s bathrobe sleeve and yanked him off the paved street onto a dirt road cutting through the woods. Notes of a song Warlock half-remembered played in the back of his mind as Adam continued his tour. Something Brother Francis would sing whenever he took Warlock out into the woods to hunt for mushrooms. He didn’t even notice that Adam was still holding onto his sleeve until the other boy came to a complete stop.

“There it is!” Adam said as he pointed into the heart of the forest. “Our secret headquarters!” 

It was a treefort.

Correction, it was _the_ treefort. The kind that Warlock--and any child really--could only dream about. It was massive, built into the tree itself and decorated with flags and ropes. Any adult with even a touch of sense could see how dangerous the treefort was. Nothing but rusted nails, old moldy wood, and God knows what sorts of violent half-crazed animals living nearby. Which was exactly why adults weren’t allowed. Just looking at the treefort was enough to get the average kid in trouble. Warlock stepped off the path and walked to the massive tree in awe. 

“You play here?” Warlock finally managed, his heart already overflowing with jealousy. 

“Yup!” Adam walked up to Warlock’s side. “We built it ourselves! Pepper borrowed a book from the library on carpentry and everything!” He said that as if it excused the multiple very obvious fire and safety hazards. 

“And...your parents let you?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t they?”

“Cause it’s dangerous?” Warlock asked, “What if something bad happens? You could fall, or break something, or get eaten by a bear!”

It was Adam’s turn to give Warlock a weird look, which was fair considering the sheer amount of odd looks Warlock had given him. “I don’t think there’s any bears around here. Are you...scared? Of bears?”

“N-No, it’s just--”

_Nanny and Brother Francis were always there to keep me safe._

“I like video games better.” Warlock said as he did his best to sound like he imagined someone very cool would sound like. It involved a lot of sounding disinterested about the topic at hand. “Way more fun than some stupid tree.”

Warlock had half-expected Adam to start a fight over that, but instead the other boy just grabbed onto the basket handle again and smiled. “Really? What system do you have? I wanted a Nintendo Switch for my birthday but I got Dog instead. But you’re way better than any video game, aren’t you boy?” 

Dog let out of muffled huff-bark as it was still holding the dinosaur clenched between its teeth. To say that Warlock didn’t care for dogs was incorrect. He liked all animals the exact same amount. Warlock would have loved to get a dog for his birthday, but he also would have been fine with a cat or a fish. Or hamster. Or gerbil. Wait, were gerbils and hamsters the same thing? He had no idea.

Adam began listing off all of the cool tricks Dog could do to fill the air as they started walking once more. Dog. That weird smelly guy had said something about a dog. His Dad had dragged him to some stupid desert for a stupid photo-op for some stupid reason. Everything after that was fuzzy. What day was that? Friday? Every time he tried to grab onto a solid piece of memory it would dissolve before he could piece anything together. 

Warlock’s thoughts were interrupted as the odd tug in his stomach turned into a full-on yank violent enough to make him almost stumble. He looked around but saw nothing but trees, a dog and Adam. “Did you--”

“Feel that?” Adam nodded, the natural warmth of his face fading. “Yeah. Dog?”

Dog whimpered as if agreeing with the two boys. It took that little dog-whine for Warlock to realize what was wrong. There weren’t any other noises. No wind rustling through the trees, no brother squirrel or sister fox rummaging about, not even a note of birdsong in the air. He met Adam’s eyes and was taken aback to see the other boy looked like he was going to be sick.

Adam shook his head, staring up at the still trees. “Something’s wrong. Really wrong. I can feel it! It's, it's wrong everywhere! But, that’s, it’s not, but, it shouldn’t--”

“Uh--”

“Everything’s supposed to be fixed!” Adam snapped, a low grumbled echoing behind his words. “It was all put back together! I know it was!”

“Hey--”

Warlock could sense something shift in the air around them. He may have been unaware that he was Different, but Warlock sure could tell Adam was **_Different_ **. Bold and in italics. Memories crackled on the edge of his thoughts. Ones of stars, of flowers, of nights that went on a little too long and ten years that felt far too short. There was something inside him that understood even if the bulk of his mind was confused as heck. 

Adam’s eyes flickered and for a second they appeared too deep. Not dark, not light, but far more vast than anything besides the ocean and sky had any right to be. Behind him Dog dropped the stuffed dinosaur out of his mouth and whimpered in pain. “Wait, why can you feel it too? You. You’re like me, but you’re not, you’re not! You can't be! If you were then you would have been there too! You weren’t _there_ , you weren’t with _us_ , how did, how did you, _did you do this?!_ ”

Warlock panicked.

That’s how he would explain himself later. He panicked. Of course he panicked! He was all alone in the woods with a suddenly-terrifying Adam in a world that was far too silent for its own good. A world that wasn’t even his! Not to mention his weird Not-Dad was probably still making pancakes while his Mom was off at a farmer’s market and he didn’t know what that was! Farmers selling vegetables? Cows? What else was Warlock supposed to do?

In retrospect, the correct answer to this probably most likely wasn’t ‘grab the stuffed dinosaur off the ground and slap it across Adam’s cheek’. Which he did. The dinosaur even squeaked on contact.

Adam blinked, and the infinite depths to his eyes vanished only to be replaced with normal human ones. He started to say something, but Warlock cut him off before he could go all weird-scary again.

“I don’t know if I did this, okay? But I know everything is wrong! I don’t live here! I don’t live here, but I woke up in what I guess is my bedroom but it isn’t because my bedroom is like three times bigger and has like this awesome gaming rig and there’s no way my Dad knows the names of any vegetables so him just handing me a basket of corwhatevers is freaky weird and my Mom is at a farmer’s market and I can’t remember yesterday at all!”

A world of expressions passed over Adam’s face before the young boy settled on one of slight confusion. “Farmer’s Market?”

“Yeah! She doesn’t even own a farm!”

“We don’t have a Farmer’s Market.”

This time the tugging sensation was followed by something fragile in Warlock cracking. “Then where’s my Mom?”

The sound of Dog barking was enough to drag Warlock from the edge of whatever abyss his stomach was threatening to fall into. Dog ran off down the path leaving the two boys in the dust. Adam moved first, grabbing Warlock’s sleeve and half-pulling/half-dragging the far less athletic Warlock behind him. 

The further the trio ran down the forest path the more Warlock could see what Adam meant about things being not-right. They passed the same trees over and over, the rocks under their feet never changing, and a log they had to climb over no less than four times before Dog slowed down. The path cut off abruptly as the forest gave away to a large flat meadow. Adam and Warlock exchanged a look before slowly walking into the sunlight side-by-side.

There were tables set up on the meadow, each covered with a precariously stacked pile of fruit and vegetables. The tables themselves looked as if they had been dragged straight out of a dining room and dropped off with no care of its condition. There were even a few that still had dishes and utensils on them, half-buried in produce. Some tables had blank signs on the front, others set up under tents made of carpet and curtain rods. 

Warlock looked over at Adam, who was staring at a tinny-sounding radio that was cast in shadow unlike the rest of the brightly-lit table. “Not normal?”

Adam shook his head. “Not normal.”

They walked further into the makeshift market with Dog softly growling at their feet. There was no one around, just them and the out-of-place tables. Warlock paused in front of a rather fancy mahogany table set with crystal wine glasses and an unspeakable amount of carrots. He grabbed two off the pile without really thinking about it and turned them around in his hands.

“They’re identical.” Adam said from over his shoulder. “Look, they both have the same notch on the top! It’s like someone just made the same carrot over and over.”

Warlock traced the odd notch with his thumb. It sure felt like a real carrot. Probably tasted like one too but there was no way he was going to do that. Not only out of fear of weird magic but also because he simply didn’t like carrots. They never taste as good as they look in cartoons. “Reused assets.”

Adam tore his eyes off a table covered in writhing packaged bacon. “What?”

“Reused assets! Like in a video game!”

All Warlock got for that was a blank stare from Adam. Great. A non-gamer. He tried to find the words that Adam and his no-taste-in-fun-hobbies would understand. “Okay like, imagine you’re making a game about, I don’t know, growing apple trees or something. You wouldn’t make a unique apple each time, right? You’d just have one apple that you use over and over again while making the level.”

Adam looked slightly less lost so Warlock chalked it up to a victory. “That’s why there’s all these weird tables, right? Because instead of making tables for a Farmer’s Market—“

“They just used ones that already existed in town. That’s probably why all the tents and stuff are just...wrong.” 

“Cause they only had whatever items they have on hand to make them! Even if they don’t fit, or the shadows are in the wrong place. But...why?”

Warlock put the two carrots down, being sure not to knock over the wineglass. Table manners were the one thing that Warlock had going for him. “Cause my Dad said my Mom was going to one, so one had to be made. This...this was made for me.”

“Shouldn’t your Mom be here then?”

“Well, characters are stored off-screen until they’re needed.” Warlock said, grabbing the video game analogy by the horns, “Like under the ground or just really really small. That way the game just has to move them instead of making them appear. Uses less memory.” 

Adam nodded, clearly not understanding. “You know a lot about video games, huh?”

Warlock beamed. “I like making mods. For a school project I made a Doom mod that turned it into a gardening simulator but like, a really cool one where you shoot flowers with a water gun—“

“Warlock! Darling! What on Earth are you doing here?”

Both boys jumped and spun around to face a woman who had not been there a second ago. Logically Warlock knew it was his Mom. Same face, same eyes, same voice, everything. But like his Dad he could barely recognize her in the red and white checkerboard skirt and modest blouse. Also because she called him by his first name and darling. Extra super weird. 

“Hi, Mom.” Warlock said as he backed up into the table, knocking the empty wineglass over. “This is, uh, Adam.”

Warlock’s Mom laughed in a very unlike Warlock’s Mom way. “Oh honey, of course I know Adam! He’s your best friend! You’ve been together since day one! It’s so good to see you again, Adam.”

“Likewise.” Adam said flatly. He shot Warlock a look that landed somewhere between confusion and worry. 

“Still!” Warlock’s mother tutted, swaying her hips just enough that they clipped into the wood table next to her. “That was very naughty of you, getting you and all of your friends in trouble yesterday! Worried us all sick!”

“Yeah, about that, what exactly did we get in trouble for?” Warlock asked. 

All he got in return was an emotionless expression on his mother’s face before she changed to annoyed-parent-scolding-child. “You both know what you did!” 

“And that was—“

“Not important!” Adam said as he hastily cut Warlock off. “I’m really sorry for yesterday Mrs. Warlock’s Mom! But I’m helping Warlock with his chores to make up for it because I am really, really super sorry. Won’t do it again. Promise.”

The word chores triggered something in Warlock’s Mom’s eyes. “That reminds me! Warlock, I need you to go apologize to the nice woman staying in Jasmine Cottage and give her these-“

“Zucchini?” Warlock said, watching his mother’s empty hands. 

“Courgettes, sweetie pie!” His mother moved her hands behind her back before bringing them forward with a picnic basket that hadn’t been there before. Warlock didn’t bother to look down to compare it to the one in his hands. “You two run off, and if you do a good job maybe I can talk your father into taking you boys to the circus tomorrow. Now if you would excuse me I have to pick up some aubergines for dinner! I’m sure they’ll go perfect with the eggplant from your father’s garden.” 

Both boys watched as Warlock’s mother turned around, took a few steps, and stopped only to stand there motionless. Warlock wasn’t sure if she was even breathing. 

“Is this a video game thing?” Adam whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“I think they’re waiting for us to look away so they can remove her off the map.” Warlock replied in kind. 

“What happens if we just keep looking at her?” 

Warlock shrugged, which was enough to convince both boys to step backwards with their eyes on the woman. Nothing changed. They took another, and another, both picking up into a slight backwards trot that Adam couldn’t really get his feet to agree to.

“Hey, Warlock?”

“Yeah Adam?”

“We’re not getting further away from your Mom.”

Adam was correct. His mother was still a few tables down, still frozen in the same position. Warlock half-expected her to snap into a T-pose at any moment. “Turn and run?”

“Turn and run.”

Both boys only waited a heartbeat before they turn and ran with Dog taking the lead once more. Warlock was barely aware of the tables they flew past (metal, picnic, plastic church basement, rotten, and brand new) or the mountains of produce on top of each (apples, why were so many of them apples, wait did that table have cows, it was a farmer’s market he supposed). He knew the market didn’t look this large. That they should have left it by now. Ignoring the moral of countless myths and stories Nanny and Brother Francis had told him Warlock risked looking over his shoulder and wasn’t too shocked to see his mother just a few tables away.

“It’s not working!” Warlock shouted, grabbing onto Adam and forcing both of them to stop. 

“I know I know! I’m trying but it's not, I can’t, it’s not working! It’s never not-worked before!” Adam’s face was pale, his eyes growing deeper by the second. The words Adam shouted at Warlock in the woods rattled around in his head screaming to be heard.

_\--you weren’t there, you weren’t with us, did you, did you do this--_

“I did this.”

“Wha--”

“I did this.” Warlock repeated, “Just like you said. I’m doing this. That means it's gotta be me, right? I gotta be the one who fixes it. So, uh, how do you do, um, that.”

“That?”

“When you get all scary with your voice and your eyes get weird. Like back in the woods.”

Adam wrinkled his nose in thought. “Huh. I dunno? Just sort of happens? I just think of a thing everything changes. I really can’t turn it on or off. I tried.” Warlock couldn’t help but notice that Adam said this the same way a normal kid would try to explain how a computer worked. Like he had a vague idea that he really wanted to call magic, but wouldn’t because that would be silly. 

Warlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Right. Everything has gone crazy so this should be nothing. Child’s play. But like dumb younger children because Warlock totally wasn’t a little kid anymore. His brain flitted through possibilities: An exit. His home. A really cool weapon. Super powers? He certainly didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want Adam or his poorly-named dog to be there either. They needed to get out of this freaky-as-hell Farmer’s Market and go someplace--

**_Safe._ **

Warlock grabbed Adam’s hand--they seemed to be doing that a lot--pulled him along as he followed the tug-feeling in his stomach. The sensation vanished as soon as they stepped inside the Farmer’s Market, but he could feel it again. No longer a vague feeling but a compass pointing him the way out. He turned when the tug told him to turn, doing his best not to pay attention to the fact he and Adam didn’t seem to be moving. Adam squeezed Warlock’s hand which made that other-weird-feeling come back. 

“What do you mean when you said my eyes do a weird thing?”

“They get like, deep. Like they reach all the way back into your head. Why?”

“Cause that’s what your eyes are doing. All deep.”

“Oh.” Warlock said, packing that and the other-weird-feeling away in the back of his mind along with everything else that had happened that morning. On some level he knew he should be panicking, but after running into his Mom Warlock just felt like he was all out of panic. Might panic later if he has the chance. Have a full freak-out. But later. First focus, turn the corner like the tugging was telling him to and--

Warlock and Adam stepped out on empty grass. The world was still silent but at least there weren’t anymore tables. He could still feel the tug in his body commanding him to go on. The question was where exactly it wanted him to go.

“Huh.” Said Adam.

“Ngk.” Said Warlock.

Dog barked, which was his doggy way of making a confused noise.

“So…”

“We should go find that witch.” 

Adam nodded. “Yeah. This way.” He finally let go of Warlock’s hand as the two boys walked back onto the forest path. Neither of them seemed to be eager to speak. They did occasionally talk to point out duplicate trees, how the leaves were moving all wrong, or a small wood bridge without a single shadow on it. Warlock had been eyeing a strange pattern on a rock that he swore was somehow checkered-pattern yet see-through when Adam let out a shout.

“There’s Jasmine Cottage!” Adam pointed through a clearing in the woods where the real world peeked in from the outside. Between the trees sat a house covered in ivy that really did have A Witch Lives Here written all over it. “See, it’s the one with the bike and the weird blue car in--Warlock!” 

Warlock started running long before his brain caught on to what his legs were doing. The pull was too strong to resist anymore. The dirt path gave way to paved road, and with it the sounds of the world came rushing back. Wind, birds, the distant hum of traffic had returned. Not that Warlock noticed. With every step closer he could feel the pull shift from a feeling into something far more powerful. This wasn’t his body having a hunch where to go. This was someone--or something--calling him. His bathrobe billowed behind him as he followed paved the road up to the cottage.

He wouldn’t say that he felt as if he was being called home. Home was not a cottage in a small town he’d never heard of before. Home, Warlock knew, wasn’t a place. Home didn’t exist anymore. But the feeling pulling him forward was similar. Maybe not home, but perhaps a safe rest spot along the way. A bus terminal for the soul. The answer to Warlock’s cry for safety.

By the time Warlock had made it to the cottage’s gate there was already a woman waiting there for him. Teacher. She looked like a teacher. Warlock couldn’t explain why she looked like a teacher, but he could imagine her standing in front of the class droning on about math or something. She was probably the type that loved springing pop-quizzes on unsuspecting students. Or, if Warlock was lucky, she was the type that would wheel in a television and let them all watch old Wishbone tapes while she took a nap at her desk. 

Warlock stumbled his way to a full stop to prevent himself from crashing into the woman. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that he had lost the basket. And Brother Dog. And Adam. (Considering he had also lost a chunk of his memory and the life he had been previously living until that morning Warlock didn’t think the basket meant much in the grand scheme of things. He was right.) Warlock focused on catching his breath before pulling enough of himself together to speak.

“I’m,” Warlock gasped, nearly doubling-over as tried to breathe, “My name is Warlock Dowling and, and I’m not supposed to be here!”

Warlock cringed. That didn’t come out as coherent as he would have liked. He looked up at the woman expecting a typical confused-adult response. Maybe a tsk-tsk and a sharp word about being silly and wasting their time. He was surprised to find the woman looking down at him through thick glasses, her lips pursed in concern.

“No,” She said, “You’re not.”

***

By the time Adam burst through the front door of Jasmine Cottage with dog and the two identical wicker baskets Anathema had already seated Warlock at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies--biscuits--and a cup of tea. Both had remained untouched as Warlock’s attention was on the kitchen itself. Yes, this house belonged to a witch. There were herbs hung up to dry. A mysterious old wood box on the counter. Odd crystals on every flat surface. A star chart pinned to the wall. A well-worn tarot deck sitting next to a pile of junk mail. It was taking all of Warlock’s willpower not to give into the childish temptation to touch everything. 

“Ah. Adam. Just in time.” Anathema said as she placed a cup of tea out for him as well. “Warlock, could you please tell Adam everything you told me?”

Warlock made a noise not unlike a cat discovering what humans considered a bath. He looked from Adam to Anathema wide-eyed. “But--”

“Tell me what?” Adam asked as he passed over the tea to go straight for the biscuits. “Cause I know about the whole he’s not supposed to be here. Or the farmer’s market! Wait, Warlock, did you tell her about the farmer’s market?”

Anathema nodded. “Which explains why all of my readings are off. Reality itself has been moved around again but this time in a rather slip-slop manner. Like someone modded the area but forgot to change the graphics.”

Warlock brightened up. “That’s what I said! It’s like a badly made level!”

Adam put the two baskets down and joined Warlock at the table. Dog laid down at his feet with one ear up just in case any cats wandered by. “I didn’t do this...right?”

A brief silent exchange went between Adam and Anathema. One that was a slightly more complex version of asking if Warlock could be trusted with a confirmation from Adam that yes, he could. Witches after all were one of the few humans on the planet who could accurately read winks and eyebrow raises. “No, the energy’s all wrong. This isn’t changing reality, it’s someone slapping a patch on it and hoping no one notices.”

“Is Warlock’s…?” Adam didn’t finish the question, but that was all Anathema needed to prompt her to push down her glasses enough to stare at Warlock. 

Warlock looked at Adam. Adam shrugged. “She’s looking at your aura.”

“Uh huh.” Warlock said, pretending he understood. 

Anathema made a noise. “It’s a very bright shade of magenta. But there’s a wobble around the edges. Like something’s trying to push in. Or out--oh! Adam! You’re orange!”

Adam perked up. “I am?”

“With just a tinge of red! Well that’s a load off my mind. Still, we need to focus on the current issue. Warlock, I want you to tell me and Adam everything you can. Everything you remember before this morning.”

Warlock glanced Adam’s way. Somewhere along their walk to the cottage, a bit before the weird farmer’s market to be exact, Warlock had decided Adam was cool. Maybe not cool cool, but the kind of guy that Warlock would like to become friends with. That made the thought of telling Adam this really weird story that made him sound totally insane twist his stomach. More insane than how crazy everything currently was. Super insane. But if there’s one thing Nanny taught him is that if a witch told you to do something you should do it. 

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Warlock started, “Like, I don’t live here. My Dad’s a diplomat and we live in this huge mansion with a huge garden and I’ve never even been to Tadfield before! I just, I just woke up this morning and instead of being in my bedroom I’m in this weird house and my Dad’s making pancakes and, and he’s never made pancakes in his life and he says I have friends and I don’t and Mom went to a farmer’s market and I’m still not sure what that is!”

He risked a glance up at Adam and was shocked to find the boy looked a little..sad? Worried? Adam looked over at Anathema and said “I didn’t do it.”

“I know you didn’t.” Anathema replied with a steady smile. “But that just means someone else did. Someone powerful, but not powerful enough to do it right.”

“You did what?” Warlock asked, not sure if he wanted an answer.

Anathema pushed her glasses back up. “Warlock, can you remember what happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Said Adam, “Right around sunset?”

Warlock frowned. “I was--”

_Scared._

_The adults weren’t even trying to hide their panic anymore. They were running around the base screaming, crying, trying anything to prevent the nukes from launching. Warlock’s Dad had vanished the second their plane touched down. His Mom had stuck by him for awhile, trying to ease his fears with meaningless words and empty smiles. At some point she had left him when the lying was too much, even for her. After that none of the adults seemed to even notice Warlock’s existence._

_Could he blame them?_

_Warlock found a semi-quiet part of the base (as quiet as one could get what with all of the alarms and shouting) and sat down against the wall with his knees pulled to his chest. He was scared. Terrified. He had tried screaming and crying like all of the adults at first but all that did was make him feel empty inside. Everyone had abandoned him. He was utterly alone. But at the same time he didn’t mind. It’s not like he wanted his parents to be there. They’d probably just lie to him more about everything being okay._

_Warlock closed his eyes. There was nothing left to do but just sit there and wait for the--_

“The end of the world.” Warlock said, surprised at the sound of his own voice. “We were doing this stupid photo-shoot and they rushed us to this airbase and, and all of the sirens were going off and everyone was screaming! That’s it! The world was ending yesterday! All the nukes were going off! We were all going to die!”

Adam and Anathema exchanged a look that Warlock didn’t care for at all. He kept going. “Wait, am I dead? Is this heaven or something? I thought heaven would have more stores.” 

“You’re not dead.” Anathema said as she sat down at the table as well, “None of us are. The world didn’t end.”

“But the world was ending, wasn’t it?” Warlock asked. He looked back over at Adam. “You remember, right?

Of all of the expressions Warlock would have guessed would be on Adam’s face he didn’t think the right answer would be guilt. Adam shifted uneasily in his chair, much like a student trapped in the gaze of a rather angry teacher. “What about after?” Adam asked, obviously deflecting.

“After what?”

“After you thought the world was going to end.” Adam said. 

Warlock thought back to that odd hazy memory. Of the pain. Of the loneliness. Of the next memory immediately after that being when he woke up in the wrong bedroom. “I woke up here.”

Anathema and Adam exchanged another look before she stood up. “I have an idea. I’ll be right back.” She made it all the way to the kitchen door before yelling over her shoulder, “and don’t touch anything!”

The two boys waited until her footsteps had gone up the stairs and faded overhead before they both sprung up to immediately touch everything. Warlock made a beeline for the tarot deck while Adam went straight for one of the larger crystals. The deck was old, well-used and well loved. He didn’t know how tarot cards worked beyond the fact that witches used them to tell the future. That and everyone in movies always pulled the Death card. 

“Is she really a witch?” Warlock asked as he ran a finger down the edge of the deck. 

“Yup!” Adam said as he went from touching the crystals to touching the herbs. “She can tell the future and everything!”

“With what, some sort of spell?”

“Nah, she has this really old book that tells her what’s going to happen. One of her great-great-great-great-great-something grandmothers wrote it. She was a witch too! Anathema said she made a whole bunch of evil people explode when she died!”

“Wicked.” Warlock said with great approval. His fingernail catches on the edge of a card sticking out a little more than the others. People in movies always pulled out Death, didn’t they? Or the one with the exploding tower, whatever that was called. The card was always bad. Every time. He pulled the card out and flipped it over catching a glimpse of an arm, a wing, a horn--

“Nope.”

Only for Adam to pluck the card out of Warlock’s hand before he saw what it was. Adam looked at the card and smiled in a tired, older sort of way before pulling a second card out of the deck and handing it to Warlock. There was that funny feeling again. The one not related to being Different or the ability to feel magic. Warlock turned the card over and was happy to see it wasn’t Death or exploding-tower. His happiness then solidified into confusion when he realized he was looking at naked people.

“Judgement?” Warlock asked. 

Adam leaned over enough to get a look at the card as well. “Your future is going to involve...naked people in boats looking up at an angel?

“Maybe they’re yelling at him to stop?”

“Yeah like, knock it off! We’re trying to sleep down here!” 

Warlock wrinkled his nose. “Bet that’s why the angel’s waking them up. So they don’t roll out of their boats and drown.”

Both boys stared down at the card in silence. Maybe there was a reason people in movies only pulled out the really obvious ones. Warlock and Adam tucked their cards back into the deck before placing it back down by the mail. Above them they could still the distant thudding and cursing of Anathema searching for something. 

“You wanna open the weird wood box?” Adam asked, his eyes on the ceiling. 

“Hec-” Warlock caught himself, “Hell yeah.”

The wood box was annoyingly plain. Something that any other pair of eleven-year-old boys would have passed over without a second thought. Every inch of it screamed the only treasure it might contain was either a sewing kit or, if they were really lucky, a collection of really old bottle caps. Yet the word weird was somehow fitting. They exchanged looks again before raising their fists. 

Warlock threw rock.

Adam, scissors.

Warlock snapped the box open only to find a bunch of paper. Which to him was even more boring than a sewing kit. Adam let out a sigh of pure adolescent boredom before going over to poke at a rather shiny crystal ball, leaving Warlock all alone which what looked like history homework in the making. That didn’t stop him from picking up the packet and opening it to a random page. 

**_Wycked Child of Heaven and Hell! Know This: Though thy present is baked in stone, thy past shall always be wet as mud_ **

“What the--”

The words on Warlock’s lips died at the sound of Anathema’s footsteps moving back towards the stairs. His eyes met with Adam’s silently before they both sprung into action. Papers were put back, crystals re-adjusted, the tarot deck neatened, all done with the skill of two boys who were experts at covering up their mischief. Warlock slid into his seat and said just a touch too loud, “Everyone knows Nintendo only makes baby games!”

“Nu-uh!” Adam said, his wide grin sparkling before he hid it away in an attempt to look mildly annoyed. “Breath of the Wild is like the coolest game ever!”

“More like Breath of the Mild.”

“That’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

“No you’re--”

“I found it!” Anathema said as she burst into the kitchen with an armful of objects that could all be described as witch stuff. She placed a candle on each side of Warlock, a black onyx mirror on the table in front of him, held a pendulum out over the mirror, realize she didn’t light the candles, light them, and then go back to awkwardly leaning over the kitchen table with the silver pendulum hovering over the smudgeless black surface. 

“Warlock,” Anathema said as the pendulum began to swing from side to side, “have you ever tried to piece two puzzle pieces together that weren’t made to? Like they were just different enough that the edges didn’t line up right?”

“No?”

“Oh. Um. What about trying to attach a lego brick with a bootlegged lego brick?”

“Never really into legos.”

Anathema looked to Adam for help. He shrugged. “Square peg in a round hole?”

“You can totally fit a square peg in a round hole just fine.” Adam replied.

“Or a round peg in a square hole.” Warlock added.

“Yes! You can, but neither of them really work, right? The peg could get stuck in the hole either way. Or you’d have to hit it extra-hard with a hammer to get the peg in. That’s what’s happening to you, Warlock. The universe is trying to make you fit into a place you shouldn’t.”

Warlock watched the pendulum swing as an uneasy flutter sprouted in his chest. “Something’s forcing me to be here? And making my Dad all not-Dad like? And make Mom wear checkers? Why? I don’t want to be here!”

The pendulum stopped swinging. Not in a normal slowing-down sort of way, but in an unnatural dead stop that lightly scratched the surface of the mirror. Anathema’s eyes flickered between it, Warlock, and Adam. She gave the chain a little shake, causing it to swing once more. “Warlock? Can you tell us more about yourself?”

“Uh. I’m eleven years old? My favorite color is purple? I’m really good at Fortnite? My favorite food is honey almond cake but no one ever makes it right. Uh. I like puzzles and riddles?”

The pendulum swung silently. Warlock continued. “I, I wanna be an astronomer when I grow up. I’m scared to tell my parents ‘cause they want me to get into politics. I don’t want to be a politician! I hate talking in front of groups and I’d have to lie all and travel I’m really, really sick of traveling with my parents all of the time! I tried to tell them I don’t want to go with them on trips but they never listen to me! I wanted to go to to an escape room for my birthday but Mom made me have this stupid little kid party with a stupid magician--”

The pendulum stopped dead once more, leaving an even deeper scratch this time. 

“What happened at your party?” Anathema asked as she started up the pendulum’s swing again. 

Warlock shrugged. “It was pretty boring. Like I said there was this really stupid magician who was really bad at magic tricks. He had a cute bunny though.”

“Aww.” Adam said with a smile. 

“But uh,” Warlock coughed, “the party was super boring till the food fight! Oh man, that was so awesome! Like, like we were all just sitting there super duper bored then one of the waiters said he wished someone would throw a tomato at the magician to get him to stop and this girl next to me was eating a slice of cake and she just stood up and threw it as hard as she could--”

Another sudden stop, another scratch.

Adam made a face. “Why does the swingy-thing think Warlock’s birthday is important?”

“I don’t know.” Anathema said, frowning. “Anything else happen?”

Warlock shook his head. “Not really. Everyone had to go home after that. Then Dad was all you need to act more mature now that you’re eleven and I’m expecting you on your best behavior during the photo shoot this weekend--”

“The photo shoot you were doing before you were taken to the airbase?” Anathema asked, “Your birthday was last week?”

“Yeah. Wednesday. Why?”

Adam flinched. 

Anathema pushed her glasses back up her nose and focused her eyes on the boy in front of her. “Warlock. Has anything weird ever happened to you? Something you can’t explain? Even if it’s the smallest thing, or maybe you thought you dreamed it? Besides everything that happened today. Or when the world almost ended yesterday. Before that.” 

He thought about that. For as different as his life was from the average kid, it wasn’t like it was super weird. Not waking up in small towns weird. Not parents turning into people they’re not weird. Not real witch using real magic weird. Warlock began to say this when an old memory bubbled up from the depths. A sweet memory he had tucked away once he grew too old to be fond of it. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to share it, but he opened his mouth before he could stop himself. “My Nanny had gold eyes.”

“Gold eyes?” Asked Anathema.

“Yeah And the black part, the pupil, they weren’t round. They were kinda pointy on the top and bottom. Like a cat! Brother Francis told me it was called colo, colom, colombia? Colomboa! It like, makes the eyes all weird shaped! And that she was very sensitive about her eyes and that’s why I should never point them out or say anything about them!”

Anathema finally sat down in her chair, letting the pendulum drop next to the mirror. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Warlock said the same way one say no duh, “Nanny always said I should ask questions. That questions are important, ‘cause you can only gain knowledge by asking! And knowledge is important for when I take over the world and rule it with an iron fist.”

This was the point at which when Warlock usually talked about his past the other person would laugh. Or accuse him of lying. Say anything, really. Not the ice cold silence that filled up the space between the three of them. With nothing to go on Warlock kept talking in hopes of a reaction of any sort. “Brother Francis, he uh was the gardener, he also said knowledge was important, but it was better to gain through experience or reading or observing the world. He said that’s how he knew Nanny took her tea, cause he watched how she made it for herself. And I was like, well why didn’t you just ask her? And then he was all because if I asked she wouldn’t have told me, or lied about it, because people who ask a lot of questions have a hard time answering them. I...I miss them. Nanny and Brother Francis. I miss them a lot. Dad let them both go on my tenth birthday. He said I was all grown up and didn’t need a Nanny, and that he was replace the garden with another pool so he didn’t need a gardener anymore. Now they’re gone. Didn’t even say goodbye.” 

Warlock didn’t mean to say that last part out loud, but once it escaped he didn’t mind too much. What harm would it do now? The room still had that weird cold silence hanging in the air. He hadn’t noticed the way the candles on either side of him flickered, or the way the onyx mirror caught the late-morning light streaming in through the window. Warlock also missed the distant look on Adam’s face, or the understanding sad smile on Anathema’s lips. 

“They meant a lot to you.” Anathema said as a statement, not a question. 

“Yeah.” Warlock stared down at his hands. He could feel the tears in his eyes and didn’t want Adam or Anathema to see. “I was all alone in the airbase. All the adults were busy trying to stop the end of the world, I guess. No one cared that I was alone. But, but if Nanny and Brother Francis were there I know they wouldn’t have left me. And they wouldn’t try to lie about what was happening or anything! If they were there I wouldn’t care what was happening! No one cares about me but them! I wanted to see them again! That’s all I wanted!I just wanted them! I just wanted to be with Nanny and Brother Francis at the end of the world!”

The mirror _shattered_. 

Slivers of onyx floated in the air a second too long before falling back down onto the table. Warlock’s body was trembling and he didn’t know why. He felt tired. Exhausted. Tears were spilling down his cheeks and he couldn’t stop them. What control little control he had over his emotions was gone. Sobs wracked his body as he struggled to speak, but nothing would come out besides a strangled howl. 

Adam reached him first, hugging him as tight as he could. Anathema was there a second later rubbing his back, whispering calming words that Warlock couldn’t make out over his own crying. He didn’t care if they made fun of him for it, or if it made him weak, or anything else his Dad would say. For the first time since his tenth birthday Warlock let himself mourn over the loss of the only people who cared if he lived or died. 

“That’s not true.” Adam said, his own voice weak. 

Warlock wiped his runny nose with his bathrobe sleeve. “Wha?”

“Your parents love you. They’re just really, really bad at showing it. Some people just need help learning how.”

Warlock sniffed. “You don’t know that.”

“He does.” Anathema said, squeezing Warlock’s non-snot covered arm. “Adam’s, hmm, Adam’s my witch-assistant-in-training. Aren’t you, Adam?”

Adam nodded way too hard. “Yeah! I um, can sense stuff like that. And do all of that, uh, weird stuff you saw. And I know your Nanny and whoever Brother Francis is--”

“Gardener.” Warlock croaked. 

“Your Nanny and Gardener really loves you too! I can feel it! It’s all wrapped around you like a giant blanket! It feels like, it feels like…” Adam’s voice trailed off as he stared at Warlock. No, not directly at him, more like if he was looking straight through him. Just when Adam’s stare went from uncomfy to worrying he spoke again. “Warlock? What does your Nanny and Gardener look like?”

Warlock sniffed. “Uh. Nanny’s...tall. Red hair. Wears black a lot? She always wore sunglasses, even when it was dark. Cause of her eye thing.”

Anathema’s grip on his arm tightened. “And Brother Francis? Was he a bit shorter? Blonde, almost white messy hair?”

“Wears really really old looking clothes?” Adam added. 

“Yeah! Wait, how’d you know?”

Anathema closed her eyes and let out a deep, tired sigh. “Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“Go upstairs, wake up Newt, and tell him to get a pot of emergency tea started.”

Warlock blinked the last of the tears out of his eyes. “Do, do you guys know Nanny and Brother Francis?”

“Unfortunately.” Anathema replied as she began to clean up the remains of the shattered mirror. 

***

Perhaps it was time for a new list of facts.

Fact one, magic was real. Pretty awesome.

Fact two, Anathema and Adam were also magical. Super rad.

Fact three, that Newt guy made way better tea than Anathema could. And he was baking cookies, sorry, _biscuits_ for everyone. Very cool.

Fact four.

“They’re _what?_ ”

Fact four was still being worked on.

“An angel and a demon! But not a bad demon! Or a bad angel. Well. He was bad at being an angel. Which made him good, cause the angels were bad. And so were the demons. But not that demon! He was good. Which uh, means he’s a bad demon I guess. Bad at being angels and demons, but good at being people.” 

Adam had been rambling non-stop since Newt shooed the two of them out of the kitchen. Anathema had retreated back upstairs, leaving the two boys alone once more. Luckily for her neither of them were in a touch-everything mood this time. Warlock settled for fiddling with his mug of tea instead while he tried to grasp the least-weird thing about what Adam said.

“Nanny’s a guy?”

“I think?” Adam shrugged. “I didn’t ask and Pepper did say I shouldn’t assume that sort of thing.”

“Meh, Nanny always said gender is a social construct that’s mainly used to oppress people by trapping them in categories when in reality everything’s just kind of wiggly-wobbly. Wait. Is Nanny the demon or angel?”

“He had black wings so maybe the demon? Doesn’t seem like I should assume that either.”

Warlock stared down at his tea. All of the gross leaves had settled on the bottom, making it impossible for him to finish his drink. “I guess she did say a lot of stuff about me taking over the world and destroying all of my enemies. That sounds like a demon.”

“Did Brother Francis say anything like that?”

“He said I should love and respect all of God’s creatures and not under any circumstances destroy my enemies.”

“Angel.”

“Angel.” Warlock echoed.

Adam cocked his head. “You okay? You don’t seem shocked or weirded out about this.”

Warlock shrugged. “I woke up in the wrong town after the world didn’t end and met two witches and a guy who causes computers to explode. At least angels and demons make sense. And it explains a lot. Like, a _lot_. Like why Nanny always refused to go to church with us on Christmas. Or why animals were always around Brother Francis like a Disney Princess.”

“They seemed nice.” Adam said, his voice soft. “When I met them. Like, I knew they were going to stand by me no matter what happened. I just knew I could trust them, too. Even though I didn’t know them at all! I kinda wish I got to hang out with them more. Before the whole world-almost-ending-thing happened.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty great.” Warlock wrinkled his nose. “So uh, why didn’t the world end? Cause it totally was.”

There was that weird look of guilt on Adam’s face again. “It’s, uh, not really important.”

“Sounds important.”

“Nope.”

Warlock narrowed his eyes. “Did you have something to do with it?”

“What? No!”

“Cause you’re acting weird.”

“ _You’re_ acting weird.”

“Your face is acting weird!”

“No one's face is acting weird.” Anathema said as she walked into the living room with an armful of books. “And Adam’s right, the end of the world isn’t important right now. What’s important is figuring out how you got here and how to get you back.” She dropped the pile of books down on the coffee table, each with the word demon or occult in the title. “Everything is stable right now, but I’m worried that the farmer’s market glitching might grow and get out of hand the longer Warlock’s here.”

“Cause everything else would have to change, right?” Adam asked, “Like the school would have to change. And his parents’ jobs. And uh, mail and stuff. Bills? Taxes?”

Anathema nodded. “Considering everything has just been fixed I really don’t want to deal with reality trying to force a Warlock-shaped hole here. Not that we don’t want you here, Warlock. You seem like a nice boy and I would love to have you over when you’re not threatening the fabric of the universe.”

“Yeah,” Warlock said with a nod, “I get that.”

“So how do we fix it?” Adam said, shifting uneasily. “Should I just...put him back?”

Anathema shook her head. “It’s not that simple. I don’t know how Warlock got here, but I suspect the fact you were raised by an angel and a demon is related. It’s possible that alone was enough to have some of their magical aura rub off on you. Not enough to bend the world to your will, but enough to get your foot in the door.”

“Don’t feel like I’m magic.” Warlock muttered. 

“Neither did I.” Adam said with a shrug. “Not even when everything was going crazy. I still felt like me.”

“Which brings me to another question,” Anathema said as she turned to look at Adam. “I thought part of everything being put back involved you losing your powers.” 

“I did! Well, I tried. It didn’t work.”

“Makes sense, really.” 

Everyone looked up just as Newt came in with a tray covered in chocolate chip cookies. 

“I’m sorry?” Anathema asked.

“Adam still being all magic,” Newt said as he put the tray down on the coffee table between them. “If he wasn’t magic then he wouldn’t be able to use magic to get rid of his magic. So the only way he could stop being magical is to keep being magical. Just, less magical. I suppose. But even then if he loses enough magic he wouldn’t be powerful enough to take away his own magic. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Newt.” 

“Yes Anathema?”

“No paradoxes before noon.” 

“Right. I’ll go get some more tea.” Newt said before shuffling out of the room. 

“Okay,” Warlock said, drawing out the word, “I’m magical because reasons. So why am I here? I don’t know this place. Or any of you. And you said everything’s over, right? Why now? Why not during, you know.” he gestured in a way to imply The End of All Things That Clearly Didn’t Happen, “all of that.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, his mouth already crammed with cookies, “seems odd.”

Anathema leaned forward with her hands neatly folded together. “Warlock, you said you wanted to be with your Nanny and Gardener while the world was ending, correct? That’s all you wanted?”

Warlocked nodded, unable to talk since his mouth was also filled with cookies.

“I think, Warlock, that you tried to bend reality to your will. That you used your power to make it so you could be with them while the world was ending. But you weren’t strong enough so you ended up here, instead. Now reality’s trying to make room for you.”

“Still doesn’t explain why here.” Is what Adam tried to say, but because he was forcing another cooking into his mouth it came out more like, “Mmmph phmmp ppmmph.”

Warlock didn’t even bother to talk and instead went with some general mmph-noises in agreement.

Newt walked back into the room with a cup of tea for Anathema and two glasses of milk which Adam and Warlock gulped down as if their life depended on it. “You’d think he’d pop over to wherever the angel and demon are. Er. That’s what they were, right? Scary-red-head and Old-Timey-Guy?”

“Yes, love.” Anathema said, the word slipping out. Luckily no one but her seemed to notice. “Oh! I bet we could get ahold of them somehow! Maybe they could--”

“They’re not here.”

Anathema, Newt, and Warlock looked over at Adam. His eyes were doing the thing again. 

“Sorry?” Asked Newt.

“Well duh,” Said Warlock, “obviously.”

Adam shook his head. “No, I mean, they’re not _here_ here. On Earth. They’re...someplace else. Someplace I can’t reach.”

“Oh,” Anathema said, “they might have gone back to their, well, to their respective offices, let’s say. Now that’s everything is said and done.”

“So they’re gone?” Warlock asked, his voice emptier than he expected. He never even considered gone. Even after they left he at least knew they were still out there somewhere. “ _Gone_ gone? Gone forever?”

The silence in the room only made the twist in Warlock’s stomach tighten. Gone. They were gone. He kept talking to silence the word echoing in his head. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? My stupid angel-demon-magic-whatever couldn’t bring me to, to where they are so they dropped me off here. Cause magic or witches or something dumb. So now I’m stuck here and everything will be weird forever cause I’m not, not…”

“Or,” Newt started only to be quickly cut off by Anathema.

“Is this another paradox?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t think it is.” Newt, who had been awkwardly hovering the entire time, sat down on the couch next to Anathema. “What if you were dropped here on purpose? Your powers weren’t strong enough so they brought you to someone who can help? Think about it! All the places you could have ended up you’re here with the only people who know what’s going on.”

Adam brightened up. “Because we’re the only people who can help!”

“It’s possible,” Newt continued, “that all of this is to act more like a transfer station than anything else. That’s why everything is weird. You’re not supposed to stay here. You’re just supposed to get up, stretch your legs, get a cup of coffee and hop onto the next train out. A liminal space.”

“Just like a Denny’s.” Anathema whispered mostly to herself. 

Warlock jumped to his feet fast enough to get a frightened bark out of Brother Dog. “Can you guys do it? Help me? Send me off? Maybe if I’m sent to the right place everything will get fixed up here!” 

Anathema bit her lip. “The question is where? If the angel and demon aren’t here then there’s no place to send you to.”

“Maybe we just have to wait for them to come back?” Adam asked.

“Might not be a reality to come back to if the farmer’s market glitch spreads.” Anathema replied.

Newt frowned. “Well no one wants that! What do we do?”

“What if--”

“We could--”

Warlock sat back down as the other three chatted among themselves. Facts. He needed to put the facts in order. Line everything up so he can get a handle on what was going on. But every time he tried to start the list the thoughts would slip out between his fingers.

Fact one, magic is real--

Fact one, Nanny and Brother Francis are an angel and demon--

Fact one, the world ended but it didn’t and he thinks Adam had something to do with it but no one won’t give him any details and it’s really annoying--

Fact one, Adam had a nice smile Warlock wasn’t sure why this was even on the list--

Fact one, magic is real--

Fact one, Nanny and Brother Francis are gone--

Fact one--

Fact one--

Fact one--

\-- **_Though thy present is baked in stone, thy past shall always be wet as mud--_ **

“Can you guys do time travel magic?” 

Anathema, Newt, and Adam looked up to stare at Warlock. Newt opened his mouth--most likely to get started on a time travel rant--but Warlock cut him off. “What if you sent me back in time? This is all because I wanted to be at the End of the World, right? So if I’m sent back a few days I can change things so I’m there with Nanny and Brother Francis! I don’t even have to like, do anything big! Just be in the general area! That’ll also keep any time paradoxes from destroying everything! Wait. Can time paradoxes do that?”

Everyone in the room looked at Newt.

Newt shrugged. 

“It could work.” Anathema said, “all you need to do is be at the Tadfield Airbase by five o’clock yesterday.”

“Wait, didn’t you say you were with your family getting your pictures taken?” Asked Adam. “And you were at a different airbase?”

Warlock frowned. “Yeah. Friday too. And Thursday. Wednesday! My birthday party! If I go there I could run away before we have to leave! Then all I have to do is get here by Saturday!”

“And what? Have you wander around lost for four days?” Asked Newt. “You’re just a kid!”

“A kid who knows where my Dad’s bug-out bag full of money is.” Warlock said as he rolled his eyes. “I’ll just take a bus or something here and meet up with you guys again.”

“But I won’t be here until Thursday. And Newt won’t be here until Saturday. And Adam,” Anathema waved her hand in the air, “is Adam. Not to mention we won’t know it’s you. You’ll just be some weird kid shouting about time travel.”

“Not the weirdest thing that could have happened in those days.” Added Newt.

Adam on the other hand grinned. “Duh! We’ll just tell Warlock our time travel phrases!”

That got a blank stare from the adults. 

Warlock rolled his eyes again. He was getting pretty good at it. “Come on! Time travel phrase! A phrase you can tell your past self so they know it’s really their future self and not like an alien spy or something! A phrase only you and no one else would know! Everyone has one!”

Newt made a face. “I don’t--”

“God is a beautiful red-headed woman.” Anathema said, a smile forming on her lips. “If I hear that I’ll know it’s from me.”

“Detective Blackbeard’s real father is the Evil Space Tyrannosaurus King Comet!” Adam shouted as he jumped up to his feet. 

Dog let out a long whine which all the humans assumed was his phrase and not just him announcing that he wanted to go outside. 

“Oh, oh alright.” Newt tapped his foot in thought. “Six and seven are better than five but four is the best and really why is eight even there.” 

“I have no idea what any of those mean but I swear I’ll remember them! I got a great memory!” Warlock said, the twist in his stomach finally fading. It was quickly replaced by the pain from eating too many cookies at once but Warlock could live with that. “I’ll get everything ready on Wednesday, leave for here before my parents wake up on Thursday, then I can just hide out till everything’s over!” 

“That is worryingly simple and bound to go horrifically wrong.” Anathema said as she stood up. “Not to mention you just being in the past could cause the outcome to change, even if you do just hide out. A lot could go wrong.”

“Being trapped in a weird farmer’s market with Warlock’s Mom is a lot more wrong.” Adam said. “There were like, pigs made out of packages of bacon. Living pigs.”

“Ugh, was that what those were?” 

Adam answered Warlock with a nod. 

“Gross.”

Newt stood mostly out of feeling awkward for being the only one still sitting. “I don’t know what you kids are talking about and I never do. Anathema? Do you really think we shouldn’t do this?”

Anathema hugged her stomach and took a deep breath. “I said it was a bad idea, not that we shouldn’t do it. And I don’t want a world of packaged-meat-pigs either. Wait, when you said alive do mean like--”

“They were oinking and trying to get off the table.” Adam replied. “I think they wanted to eat the pile of identical carrots on the other side.”

“Right. That is far more terrifying than the rain of fish and blood.” Anathema reached over to squeeze Warlock’s hand. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Warlock met her eyes. “No. But, but Brother Francis always said part of growing up meant doing stuff you really don’t want to because you have to. Like homework, or chores, or smiting any evil that comes across my path even if they want to take you out for dinner and grab drinks afterwards!”

“I really, really feel like we didn’t get the whole story on the angel and demon.” Newt said. “Like there was a lot of background we missed right there.”

“The angel did say something about a snake and apple tree duty.” Anathema said under her breath. She cleared her throat and said at normal volume, “think you can do it, Adam?”

“Yeah? Yeah. Yeah!” Adam moved to Warlock’s side and took his hand. “Are you ready, Warlock?”

Warlock forced himself to look into Adam’s eyes. The depth was there, but it didn’t scare him anymore. He wasn’t afraid at all, really. Because no matter what happened he was going to be with Nanny and Brother Francis again. That’s all that mattered. “Ready!” 

Adam took a deep breath as the world faded around him. He was smiling at Warlock, those endless eyes of his now filled with stars. “Hey Warlock?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“You’re a pretty cool guy. Let’s be friends, okay? When everything’s back to normal? Promise?”

Warlock tried to answer, but the words refused to come out. All he could manage was a nod in agreement. He tried again, forcing his lips to move. “Promise.”

Adam let go of his hand, and Warlock could feel the world slip away. 

“Remember! You promised!” Adam shouted.

“Stay safe! Just keep out of the way!” Anathema added.

Dog even barked, no doubt wishing Warlock luck. 

“Mind as you go!” Newt said, the last words Warlock heard before everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard, [I've been going through some hard times](https://aughtpunk.com/2019/11/24/in-which-i-am-very-bored-at-a-psych-ward/). Thank you everyone so much for your kudos and comments. They always help pick me up when things get dark. Really. Love you all.
> 
> If you enjoy my writing please check out my other fics or head to [my website](https://aughtpunk.com/want-to-help-out/) for information on my non-fic writing and how to help me out while I'm putting my life back together.
> 
> Be sure to tag me as @AughtPunk on [Twitter,](https://twitter.com/aughtpunk) [Tumblr,](http://aughtpunk.tumblr.com) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/AughtPunk) if you want to say hi, or ever make any fan content of my work. No need to ask permission, art and fic is always welcomed!


	2. Wednesday, August 20th 2019

_ “Nanny? Do I have to be the president when I grow up?” _

_ The question obviously caught Nanny Ashtoreth off-guard. Her hands, which had been deftly knitting before, now tangled themselves up in a mess of yarn and dropped stitches. “Who told you that?” She said, venom dripping in her words.  _

_ Warlock (how old was he? Six? Maybe seven) sat down next to Nanny on the playroom sofa. It was the only sofa in the house that was chosen for comfort instead of its ability to match the wallpaper. “Daddy.”  _

_ Nanny made a click-noise in the back of her throat. “I see. Do you want to be the president? Because you’ll be able to do whatever you want once you take over the Earth.”  _

_ “No.” Warlock kicked his feet (young enough that his feet still didn’t reach the ground. Five, perhaps?) “I hate politics.”  _

_ The venom vanished, to be replaced by the usual dark growl that echoed behind Nanny’s words. “Good. Even Hell can’t stand politicians. Did you tell your father this?” _

_ Warlock shook his head.  _

_ “I see. And why not?” _

_ “He’d yell at me.” _

_ Nanny placed the knitting down in her lap. “Does he?” _

_ He didn’t answer, but the way his fingers dug into the cushion was all Nanny needed to see. She made another harsh click in the back of her throat before her expression softened. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” _

_ Now it was Warlock’s turn to be caught off guard. Plenty of adults had asked him that over and over during his short life, but never Nanny. At most she would talk about all of the things Warlock could do once he had the forces of good crushed under his heel, but never a direct question like this.  _

_ “I dunno. Did you want to be a Nanny when you were little?” _

_ This is how their evenings went. Questions for questions. They would go around in circles sometimes, always asking but rarely stumbling upon any solid answers. Hearing straight-out statements from Nanny was odd.  _

_ “No. I wasn’t always a Nanny, either.” _

_ Warlock gasped as all children do when they find out the adults in their life simply didn’t just pop out of the ground fully formed. “No!” _

_ “Yup.” Nanny smiled as she threaded the slipped stitches back on her knitting needles. She wouldn’t answer him, not without prompting. That was part of their game too. _

_ “What did you do?” _

_ Nanny lifted her head ever-so-slightly, not looking at Warlock or anything else in the room. “I hung the stars.” _

_ “No!” Warlock gasped, even more dramatic than before. _

_ “Mmm-hmm.” _

_ “You can’t do that!” _

_ “And why not?” _

_ “Stars are really really really high up and really really really far away! You’d need a rocket! A super huge rocket!” _

_ Her smile only grew. “Not me. I would fly up to space all by myself. No spaceship needed.” _

_ “Nuh-uh.” _

_ “Uh-huh.” _

_ “So why’d you stop?” _

_ (The memory was old, but Warlock could clearly see the way Nanny’s cheek twitch ever-so-slightly. He didn’t know what it meant at the time. It’d take at least a few more years to look back and realize he’d upset her. It would take far, far longer for him fully understand why her perfect-Nanny mask slipped for just a second.) _

_ “Well!” Nanny said, the bravado back in her voice, “Because if I kept going you wouldn’t be able to see any individual stars. There would be nothing but a sky full a sparkling white light covering everything. And think how bright the night would be! We wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.” _

_ Warlock gasped, his mind filled with the image of the night sky as bright as the sun. “Brother Racoon and Sister Bat wouldn’t be able to get their food!” _

_ “Not what I thought you would take away from this, but yes. So I stopped before the sky got too crowded--” _

_ “And became my Nanny!” _

_ Nanny raised an eyebrow. “There’s a bit more between those events, but yes.” _

_ Warlock kicked his feet violently enough that one of his slippers went sailing off into one of the many piles of toys. He’d never wonder how it would end up in his room by bedtime. “Can I hang up the stars when I grow up?” _

_ “You can do whatever you want when you’re the Supreme Master of us all.” Nanny whispered as she gave him a kiss on the top of his head. “But why don’t we focus on learning all about the stars first before we go about making more? We could go skygazing later this week if the weather holds up.” _

_ “Yay!” Warlock cheered, sending his other slipping flying. That would by his bed later tonight as well. “Can Brother Francis come?” _

_ “Of course!” Nanny suddenly caught herself and cleared her throat, “But you can’t tell him about my old job.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ Nanny hesitated a second too long. “Because. It’s a secret. And what do we say about secrets?” _

_ “We gotta hoard them to use against our enemies in their times of weakness.” _

_ “That’s my boy.” Nanny said as she handed Warlock her ball of yarn. “Now hold this, and don’t let go, okay?” _

_ Warlock nodded, empowered by the important task Nanny had given him to help with her knitting. He’d make it almost a whole ten minutes before the sound of clicking needles put him to sleep. _

_ (They went stargazing often after that. His father stopped yelling at him, too. He also would start muttering under his breath about being followed by a giant snake, but no one really paid much attention to his father’s ramblings anyway.) _

***

Warlock woke up to the sound of ringing in his ears. He stirred, not yet ready to break out of the blissful stage of being between awake and falling back asleep. 

His blanket and pillow were making a rather strong argument together on why he should stay in bed. Like so many preteens before him Warlock was transitioning from getting up at dawn to wreak havoc, to sleeping in past noon every day he could. In his defense, the party wasn’t starting till two, so there was really no reason to wake up any earlier than he had to. 

He wiggled further down his blanket and let himself drift away. It was his eleventh birthday, he could do whatever he wanted to! Isn’t that what Nanny always said? Warlock may have fallen back asleep completely if it weren’t for the nagging question in the back of his head demanding to be asked.

Didn’t he turn eleven already?

He did. He turned eleven last week. 

Right before the world ended.

People never wake up as dramatically as they do in the movies. No sitting straight up, eyes wide, panting heavily and covered in cold sweat. In reality Warlock had gone from sleepy to heart-pounding-in-chest full panic in a snap as everything hit him at once. It was like forgetting a dream in reverse, the images forming in his head in bursts of colors.

_ A witch staring at him over her round glasses. Sitting all alone at the air base. Stack of half-burnt half-raw pancakes. A very boring very hot desert surrounding him on all sides. Rows upon rows of tables stretching as far as the eye could see. Looking out the airplane window as London slipped away. Perfectly still trees in a world without sound. That creepy weird smelly guy--was his eyes always black? Were those maggots-- and a boy leaning out a window, smiling, what was his name again, what was his name? A tarot deck, Nanny, an old box, Brother Francis, his past is mud, Nanny, Brother Francis-- _

_ Angels and demons. The end of the world. _

“Oh.” Warlock said, staring wide-eyed at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers that covered his bedroom ceiling. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

This was not the first time Warlock had cursed in such a way, but it was possibly the first time in his entire life it was proper for the situation at hand. Not only because of the end of the world being mere days away, but because as he looked over his memories Warlock realized something was missing. A memory that must have slipped between his fingers while the rest were pouring out. 

For the life of him Warlock couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do.

He remembered the witch lady. And… that guy. A dog? There was another person, too. The boy who was leaning dangerously out the window. The more Warlock tried to focus on the boy the fuzzier the memory got. By the time he stumbled out of bed, Warlock wasn’t even sure if it had been a boy. To make it worse, everything connected to that person-shaped hole in his head were also blurring out of focus. Almost as if something was trying to make him forget everything that had happened. 

(This was in fact what was happening. Think of it as an automatic defense system for reality as a whole. After all, the only thing nature abhors more than a vacuum are smartasses who get the timeline bent out of shape.)

Warlock grabbed the book nearest to his bed, a pen, and with a quick apology to the author--hopefully Pratchett wouldn’t mind too much-- he started scribbling down his shattered memories as best as he could before anymore slipped away completely. With every word written Warlock felt the memories solidify more and more in his head. Yet he couldn’t help but notice the large holes punctured through memories labeled and tripled-underlined with DO NOT FORGET. He could worry about that later. Write first. Worry later. 

By the time Warlock’s pen finally slowed down he had covered most of Terry Prattchet’s ‘Equal Rites’ with his writing. Well, writing and a whole lot of scribbles that were his attempts at drawing people and landmarks. Warlock flipped back to the start of the books and went over his notes, compiling the latest updates to his Fact List.

Fact One: Blah blah magic real, witches real, angels and demons real

Fact two: Nanny is a demon, Brother Francis is an angel

Fact two-point-five: Or it could be the other way around. Not important.

Fact three: The world will end on Saturday at 5’oclock. 

Fact four: It was vitally important for him to be at a certain location when the world ended, instead at that dumb photo shoot his Dad was dragging him to.

Fact Five: Warlock had no idea where said location was. Or how he was supposed to get there. 

Warlock may have spent the rest of the day staring at his notes in hopes that something, anything would click into place if he wasn’t pulled back to the present by knocking on his bedroom door.

“ _ Swee-tie _ ! It’s time to get up! The party’s in less than an hour!” 

Mom. Warlock tossed the book aside and ran to his door, flinging it open fast enough that his Mom still had one hand up pre-knock. Her makeup and hair were already done-up, and she was wearing a dress that would have made the checkered skirt die from embarrassment. In her hand were the dress shirt and pants that Warlock vaguely recalled making a fuss about the first time around. One, he thought, he didn’t have to make now. 

“Good morning Sweetie!” His Mom said, all cheer and empty eyes, “I have your special birthday boy out--”

“Thanks Mom.” Warlock said as yoinked the clothes out of her hand. His mom clearly was not prepared for this acceptance and stood there blinking until her mind caught up with what was happening. 

“You’re fine? With the outfit?” She said, her happy-mom mask slipping a bit. 

Warlock nodded. “Yup.”

“And wearing a belt?”

“The one you picked up last summer on the riviera?” Warlock nodded, “Yup. I’ll even make sure my shoes match.” 

His Mom’s smile vanished completely. She looked utterly lost, more confused than Warlock had been mere hours ago. It was the look of a woman who woke up to find the sky a lovely shade of pink and water a tad drier than she was used to. “Oh. Okay. Good. By the way, your friend Laykylynn can’t come to your party because--”

“She’s caught the whooping cough going around the polo team and her Mom doesn’t want her out of the house until her essential oils kit comes in.” Warlock repeated word-for-word what his mother told him the first time. He’d been upset about that too, hadn’t he? Not because Laykylynn wouldn’t be there--he barely knew her-- but the fact her family always gave the best gifts. “And you need to call the bakery to make sure the cake is delivered before the magician shows up.”

“I didn’t even think about the cake.” His Mom whispered to herself. She didn’t, the first time around, and that horrible magician had to stall for time. Maybe at least this time around Warlock would be able to spare everyone from at least one card trick. “I’ll go do that right now. Please--”

“Remember to tuck my shirt into my pants, gotcha.” Warlock grabbed onto the edge of his door and was about to slam it into his mother’s face when a too-fresh memory of his fake mother danced in front of his eyes. He assumed the rest of the world was as it was, but doubt lingered in his heart. Only one way to make sure everything else was okay. “Mom, what’s a courgette?”

“I believe it’s a type of Italian sports car?”

“Thanks Mom!” In a move that equally shocked both parties, Warlock lunged out and hugged his mother as tight as he could around her waist before stepping back and slamming the door shut. He half-expected her to knock again just so she could yell at him about  _ something _ , but nothing of the sort happened. That was one parent down at least.

***

There was exactly one thing that Nanny and his father agreed on, and that was the concept of a bug-out bag. That everyone should have a bag in a hidden yet easily reached area containing emergency clothes, food, water, survival supplies and a wad of cash at all times. Both of them understood the importance of running away to live another day. The only difference between them, as Warlock knew, is that Nanny’s In Case of Emergency plans involved him and Brother Francis while his father’s… did not. 

(Warlock also didn’t know that his father and Nanny had very different ideas of what should be in a bug-out bag. While his father’s bag was packed with surviving in the wild for weeks at a time, Nanny’s bag was nothing but a dozen bottles of wine, a star map, and a thermos. While survival experts would agree that his father’s bag was more practical, they would pick Nanny’s over his any time. If the world was ending, these experts would argue, one was certainly better off drunk and stargazing than slowly starving to death in the woods. None of them could make sense of the thermos, but it did make vaguely more sense than having money after society collapsed.)

Luckily, for all of his father’s rantings about the importance of hiding said bug-out bag, Warlock found it within minutes of entering his Dad’s study. Warlock took one look at the life-sized oil painting of his father wrestling a bear and knew deep down in his heart that there would be a wall safe behind it. He was correct. Warlock also knew that his Dad would set it to something he thought was clever but no one else would. It took Warlock three tries to open it, just because he’d honestly thought there was no way the combination would be his birthday.

“Huh.” Warlock said as the safe opened. Weird. Mostly because his Dad was an expert at missing birthday parties. Which, Warlock reflected, that meant his Dad wasn’t forgetting his birthday like he claimed and was, in fact, avoiding it on purpose. He shoved that deep in his mind to unpack with the help of a therapist later as he lifted his Dad’s bug-out bag onto the floor and opened it up. 

Thus began Warlock’s current puzzle: What does one bring to the end of the world? He removed items from the bag one-by-one, thinking about each before putting them in the yes/no piles.

Money? Yes. (The world wasn’t ending for a few days and he did have to eat.)

Gun? No. (Warlock did not share the disturbing love for guns that his father--and a large percent of America-- had.)

Wool blanket? Yes.

Reusable water bottle with filter? Yes.

A smaller gun? No.

Clothes? Yes but not his Dad’s, that would be weird. 

Food rations? Hell no. (His dad made him eat them once on a camping trip. The flavor still haunts him.)

One of those all-purpose tools that do a million things at once but no one actually knows how to use? No.

Flashlight? Yes. (Warlock did note that his father wrote the word FLASHLIGHT on it in sharpie and even including a drawing of the American flag to let everyone know it was not a torch.)

Emergency hand-crank radio new in box? No.

First aid kit overstuffed to the point it was being held together with rubber bands? Yes.

Yet another gun? No.

Seriously, a fourth gun? No.

What Warlock thought was some sort of emergency sleeping bag but turned out to be a cleverly disguised gun? No.

The actual emergency sleeping bag? Yes, but only out of spite.

After replacing all of the unwanted items in the bag Warlock tip-toed back to his room with his supplies and, after double-check that none of them were secretly guns, turned to his closet and began the search for his old camping backpack. Which ironically enough was far more hard to find than his father’s bug-out bag. Warlock got onto his knees and crawled into the closet, tossing everything not-camping-bag over his shoulder, and muttering as he went. 

“Shoe, shoe, box, shoe, shoebox, socks, wood sticks glued together, basketball, baseball, football, the other kind of football, shoe, belt, beaded snake keychain,” That one Warlock shoved into his pocket, “Belt, another belt, a tie, old lunchbox, Playstation Vita? I have one of those? Huh. Broken kite, winter jacket, shoe-- ah HA!”

With a triumphant yell Warlock unearthed his old camping backpack out from the depths of his closet and tossed it onto his bed with the rest of his supplies. “Okay, what next? Clothes? I guess? Do I really need a change of…”

His words trailed off as Warlock caught a glimpse of sparkling gold from the corner of his eye. There, in his backpack, which should have been empty, was a small box wrapped in the most garish red-gold wrapping paper he had ever seen in his life. Gold sparkles, red glitter, an overall holographic rainbow sheen that hadn’t been seen out in the world since the early 90s, all of it was too much to take in. There were paisleys!  _ Paisleys _ ! Warlock only knew what those amoeba-blob things were because his Mom once ranted about them for over an hour straight at a neighbor’s Christmas party. Warlock turned the box over in his hands, noting the horrific wrapping job done by the gift-giver.

Gift- _ givers _ , a small voice in the back of his head corrected.

“No way.”

Warlock tore the wrapping paper off, mercifully putting it out of its misery before it could be seen by any other better-dressed presents. The gift was from Nanny and Brother Francis. He didn’t know why he knew, but Warlock had stopped trying to figure out why hours ago (Does it count as hours ago if it’s time traveling? Or would it be days from now?) and let his gut feeling take the wheel. He opened the box and lifted up a watch that was trapped in a prison of crinkly brown paper strips. 

Not just any watch. An Apple watch. Like he wanted for his birthday last year.

(His father refused, of course. Said that Apple products were for flower-planting-hippies and they lived in a good old fashioned American home with electronics using True-American Windows products. Warlock had tried explaining time and time again that Apple was created in America but his father refused to budge. Deep down Warlock suspected his father thought California was a small country not a proper state.)

He tapped the screen and the watch lit up to display the time and with another tap times in different cities across the world. Including one that was just five minutes off of the current time for some reason. Warlock tapped and swiped, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, until he found the timer app where someone had already set up a count-down to three o’clock that afternoon. Three? What happens at three? If the party started at two, then around three was--

“The food fight?” Warlock asked the watch, secretly hoping that maybe Siri knew something he didn’t. When the nice computer lady didn’t answer Warlock snapped open the watch’s tartan band and put it on his wrist. It fit him perfectly, not too tight but not too loose. Like the watch was made for him. Even the red-and-beige tartan pattern was the one that had been with him most his life. Another time he would have been thrilled--and already plotting how to get his own matching iPhone case-- right then he just felt sad. Hollow. The gift was from them, it had to be, he knew it was! But that made it worse in a way. 

They hid it deep in his closet, Warlock thought, instead of giving it to him directly. They hadn’t even been there on his tenth birthday. Left the night before, after he fell asleep. Warlock barely remembered his birthday last year as he spent most of it screaming and crying, demanding to know why the two most important people in his short life were gone. He did unfortunately have very clear memories of his mother and father’s reaction to his ‘little outburst’. There were words said. Many words. Statements about him being all grown up, for him to stop being overly emotional, and that real men didn’t cry. Angry words about the type of men who did cry and how Warlock wasn’t like that. Warlock  _ wouldn’t  _ be like that. 

Words Warlock had shoved deep down until they trickled down his face and dripped onto the watch face. A watch left by an angel and demon who left him without a single word or goodbye, at the mercy of parents he didn’t want and a world far colder and emptier than it had ever been before. He overturned the box and shook it until all of the brown paper bits fell out just in case they had placed anything else in there. A letter, a note, a card, anything.

Nothing. 

Warlock wished he was surprised.

***

One of the perks of being Different is the natural invisibility that came with it. Not in a literal sense (as far as Warlock knew) but in the sense that unless you were screaming and-or on fire most people passed you over. Being Different, you see, was often mistaken for Being Mature, or Being Responsible, or Being Far Better Than Those Other Children. Adults see a Different child reading a book instead of setting the couch on fire and assumed this child was the mature one that could be trusted with cooking dinner and answering the phone. What no adult ever realized is that the quiet child reading the book is always the one who told the other kids to set the couch on fire. 

So, when Warlock walked through the front door of his house with his overstuffed backpack not a single adult gave him any mind. He’s probably helping another adult, they would think, or oh, that’s Warlock, he’s fine, it’s Paisleigh you have to keep an eye out for. No one seemed to notice that between the backpack and Warlock’s red eyes he may as well had Running Away From Home written all over him. 

(Perhaps if there was an adult with a proper heart who understood children they would have stepped in to help the boy. Sadly the type of people his parents hobnobbed were barely aware of the world outside their own head, nevertheless the feelings of a child.)

Warlock had cried out everything inside him that wasn’t related to the end of the world, dressed up, and was now on the precipice of realizing he had no idea what to do next. He had a vague notion that he had to be somewhere by Saturday. That it was vitally important for him to be at whatever location he was supposed to be at. If he thought about his odd memories he could make out a few houses, a path through a forest, and a treefort. A super awesome treefort. That would have to do as a guidepost for now. 

His current whisper-thin idea of a plan was as follows:

  1. Hide backpack someplace where no one would see it
  2. Wait until Food Fight
  3. Slip out during chaos
  4. Try not to think about step four, focus on the other three steps instead, under no circumstances think about what he should do for step four.



Naturally, Warlock wandered the grounds of his home in a daze doing absolutely nothing but thinking about step four. He could leg it to the nearest bus stop, ride till his gut feeling told him to get off, and then hope he wouldn’t get stabbed or killed or worse, picked up by cops. (Nanny was very clear on her Fuck the Police stance. Brother Francis on the other hand was a bit more on the side of Screw the Police, as he was rather against Warlock cursing in any fashion.) Warlock had a half-fashioned story in his mind about his parents sending him off to a distant relative when he saw a car parked in the middle of the lawn instead of anywhere a car should be. 

But not just any car.

_ Nanny’s car. _

Warlock bolted towards the car, kicking himself for not noticing it sooner. Or not noticing it at all the first time around! Had he really been that distracted by his birthday party? He did spend his first eleventh birthday mostly sulking, he reflected. He’d been doing a lot of sulking of late. Wasn’t his fault that the world in general felt like he was wearing clothing a size too small. He slowed down as he approached the car, a childhood’s worth of memories popping up about how he should act around The Bentley if Warlock knew what was good for him. He stopped in front of The Bentley, hands neatly folded in front of him as he put on his best Buttering-Up-An-Adult voice.

“Hello, Bentley,” He said, thankful there wasn’t anyone around to see this, “it’s me. Warlock? Remember? Warlock Dowling? I’m uh, I’m the kid Nanny took care of?”

The Bentley did not acknowledge Warlock. 

“We would go driving together when the weather was nice, and sometimes we’d even go out late at night to stargaze with Brother Francis. I always made sure to wipe my feet off before getting in because you’re a very, uh, a very pretty car and I didn’t want you to get all muddy or sticky. Even when we went to go get ice cream I was really careful that a drop didn’t get on you.”

The Bentley continued to be a car. 

“Um, I’m the one that always sang along when you played Queen? Cause you have like the best taste in music. Way better than any other car I’ve been in! You’re like, the coolest car ever! And, and Nanny and Brother Francis are in trouble and things are really bad and I need your help and--”

Warlock was cut off by an ear-splitting shriek of static before it switched over to a far more familiar voice and melody.

_ “Kings will be crowned, and the word goes around, From father to son, to son--” _

“Shh!” Warlock hissed at The Bentley and was honestly shocked when the car turned the radio’s volume down. Usually it needed a few threats before even considering changing the music in any way. “Yes! I’m very happy to see you but we need to be sneaky! We can’t get caught!”

One of the headlights flickered oddly as the other stayed on. Warlock was pretty sure The Bentley winked at him. He dropped down on one knee to address the front of the car directly. “I know something really bad is going to happen. Really, really super ultra bad. I want to help, but I need to get away from my family first. So could I like, hide in your trunk until I’m far enough away to not get caught by my parents? Just beep twice when the coast is clear!” 

Not only did The Bentley beep twice in agreement, but the car was also nice enough to pop it’s trunk open for Warlock. Warlock was pleased to see that there was enough room for an eleven year old boy and his bug-out bag despite the large wicker picnic basket that took up a good chunk of the trunk. He had a passing thought of not thinking Nanny was the picnic type before tossing his bag in and slamming the trunk closed.

(Nanny wasn't the picnic type. In fact Nanny was completely unaware that she had a picnic basket in the trunk of her car. She would also be surprised at the fact that the Bentley had a trunk. Nanny would not be shocked if she found out that the trunk and picnic basket had been there since ‘67.)

“Thanks Bent.” Warlock said as he gave the car a fond pat. “I'll be back in thirty. There's going to be a huge--”

The Bentley cut Warlock off with a series of beeps that sounded a lot like Yeah Yeah I Know. Warlock didn't question it. He should have.

Instead he smiled and ran off back to the party. Warlock made it all of the way to the edge of party tents when a delayed thought smacked him upside the head.

If The Bentley was here then  _ so was Nanny _ .

***

Warlock did his best to act like he did the first time around at the party. Awkwardly say hi at any adults that greet him, pretend to know any of the invited kids--they knew him of course, how could you not be aware of a boy named Warlock--and generally act like his normal sulky self. If anyone noticed he seemed distracted they passed it off as the birthday boy being eager to get his to presents. None of them would guess he was searching the crowd for bright red hair paired with impossibly dark glasses. 

Nanny was here. Nanny had probably been there the first time around too. Warlock searched, not really knowing what to do if he did find her. Tell her everything? See if she and Brother Francis can help? Could they help? Were they even aware that the world aware that the world was going to end? What if they couldn’t help? What if they didn’t want to?

In the center of Warlock’s racing thoughts was the biggest question of them all: If Nanny really was here, then why didn’t Warlock see her the first time through? She would have at least told him happy birthday, right? Unless she didn’t want Warlock to know she was there.

Unless she didn’t want to talk to Warlock.

Unless she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Unless she didn’t care at all.

Unless, unless, unless--

The word echoed in Warlock’s head so loud he didn’t notice there was someone standing in front of him until it was too late. With the grace of a preteen still getting a grip on a growth spurt Warlock walked straight into an old woman, nearly knocking the two of them down.

“S-sorry!” Warlock said, so taken aback he forgot to be rude. He glanced around, making sure no one saw what happened. And, you know, to keep an eye out for any Nanny-shaped objects.

“Think nothing of it, Warlock.” She replied. “Shouldn't you be off with your friends? They seem to be enjoying a rather intense battle without you.”

Crap, Warlock thought, she was right, he was supposed to be terrorizing the Fitzgerald triplets with a super soaker right about now. He caught a glimpse of the water fight in the distance between the gaggle of parents yelling at their children to not get their clothes wet. “Nah, it's okay.”

“Still. It's rather foolish to head into a war unarmed. And it is your birthday.” The old woman leaned down enough to bring a green squirt gun into Warlock’s line of sight. It was one of those cheap translucent ones that could be used once before springing leaks everywhere and being regulated to the bottom of the swimming pool.

“Thanks?” Warlock said as he took the cheap squirt gun from the old woman. He started to lift his head up only for the old woman to gently press his shoulder down and kiss the top of his head.

“I knew you'd be a troublemaker.” She said, her voice wistful. “You better hurry, or you'll miss the Magician’s show. He's wonderful, you know.”

“He's terrible.” Warlock told his shoes, “like the worst magician who's ever lived. Ever. Ever-ever.”

The old woman laughed as she stepped away from the corner of Warlock’s vision. “He really is terrible at his job, isn't he?” Her laughter followed her as she walked 

away, slipping into the mulling crowd hovering by the main tent. By the time Warlock lifted his head back up she was long gone, his memory of their encounter following in her footsteps.

He heard his mom shout something in the distance about cake and ran off towards the tents with the crappy squirt gun he got someplace or another tucked into his belt.

***

He should have told his Mom to cancel the Magician.

Warlock should have begged his Mom to cancel. Thrown a fit, cause a scene, set the second dining room on fire, anything to prevent the Magic Show from going on. He was even given a redo on his birthday! But no, he was so focused on the end of the world Warlock had forgotten the real danger: dying of second-hand embarrassment.

The Magic Show was far worse the second time around. At least the first time there was the slight entertainment from wondering how the Magician was going to mess up. But now that he knew exactly how a grown man was going to utterly fail the ball-and-cup trick turned it into a slow motion train wreck. Which in theory should be super awesome, but it practice resulted in Warlock burying his head in his hands as the Magician pulled the wrong card again. And again. And again.

Warlock glanced down at his watch. Less than five minutes to go. The girl next to him was poking idly at the huge slice of cake in her plate. She'd gotten a full corner heaped with buttercream roses. The perfect projectile to start a food fight. Any minute now the waiter standing behind them would mutter under his breath--

“Wish I had a bloody tomato to  **throw** at him.”

Warlock had heard the waiter the first time, but this time he felt it. Like a hand on his back giving him a gentle push forward. Not enough to force him into action. More like just letting him know the option was there if he wished to act upon the suggestion. The sensation was so jarring Warlock turned around enough to see what was the cause, his mind already filled with thoughts of witches and tarot cards.

Whoever he was thinking of--round glasses, pursed lips, a hand squeezing his arm--wasn't behind him. The only person there was a nondescript waiter impatiently looking at his watch as if time itself had personally wrong him. Warlock blinked and like magic the word nondescript vanished from the waiter’s description allowing new words to file in. Words like tall, bright red hair, and dark glasses that completely blocked out the wearer's eyes.

Time slowed down. Whenever it was in the metaphorical sense or in a far more literal sense is left to the reader’s digression. Either way Warlock knew he had to act and act fast.

Warlock's wanted to scream. To cry. To tackle the waiter in a hug and only let go long enough to punch her and demand answers. She was there, Nanny had been  _ right there _ standing behind him the entire time and he didn’t notice. She’d been there the whole time in disguise acting like, like she wasn’t his Nanny! Like he didn’t matter! The moment was on the verge of slipping away when he out of the corner of his eye Warlock saw the girl next to him stand up with slice of cake in hand.

Well. Just because he was trying to mimic the events of his first eleventh birthday didn't mean he had to.

With the grace that reminded Warlock of a flying dinosaur--for some reason--he grabbed the plate from the girl's hands and spun around just in time as the waiter finally looked up from his watch. Warlock and the waiter's eyes met. He couldn't see the man's eyes through the dark glasses but he knew. He always knew when Nanny was looking at him.

The noise Nanny made as the cake smashed into her and sent her toppling back into buffet table almost made up for the world ending.

***

Warlock was not an active child. Despite his father's best efforts he never took to sports and--outside of his daily stroll through the garden--Warlock did everything possible to stay indoors within arm’s reach of a computer at all times. He had never seen anything wrong with how he lived his life right up to the second he began running to the Bentley.

Maybe he should have gone for runs in the garden. Or jogged. Wasn’t jogging supposed to be good for you? Warlock found it a bit hard to think while his chest was on fire. His legs were on fire too. But, and this must be made clear, only in the metaphorical sense. That being said a part of him was pretty sure that if Nanny caught him he’d be on fire in a more literal sense. Warlock knew for a fact that he saw smoke whispering out from the corner of Nanny's mouth as she hissed in a language that sounded like rolling barrel filled with rusty nails. Demon, he reminded himself. Actual demon from Hell where there are all sorts of other demons who would probably be more than happy to toss Warlock into a pit of acid for messing with their friend. 

Huh, he thought, were those the legions of Hell Nanny always said he would be commanding? And didn't she also mention him using said legion to crush the holy armies of Heaven? Except, Nanny would stress, do not under any circumstances destroy any angels that were soft and would not shut up about books.

(The whole angel-demon thing really did put a lot of Warlock’s childhood in perspective.)

With a glance back to make sure he wasn't being followed--while ignoring the echo of don't look back bouncing around in his head--Warlock made a beeline for The Bentley. His heart leapt as The Bentley’s trunk popped open ready for its illegal Warlock cargo. Only pausing a second to wipe off the brunt of the cake on his body Warlock jumped into the trunk and slammed it shut behind him.

Let’s take a moment to talk about car safety.

Under no circumstances should the average human willingly choose to ride in the trunk of a car. While modern vehicles have emergency latches to open the trunk there is still the issue of air movement, lack of safety belts, and the fact that laying in a truck scrunched up against a book bag and a wicker picnic basket is simply uncomfortable. Not to mention in serious car accidents trunks had the habit of turning from outies to innies. Warlock lucked out as The Bentley had spent the past ninety-odd years of its life being told by a rather powerful demon to Not Kill Any Humans. Because of this The Bentley was now a near-expert at not hurting humans, and even knew enough about the easily-killed-squishy-things to make sure Warlock was safe and sound in its trunk. 

Warlock wasn’t aware of any of that, as at that moment he was far more worried about being caught than basic car safety. He had landed in an awkward half-sitting/half-twisted position that wedged him against the back of the trunk with no room to stretch. Only then did Warlock think about things like what if he’s stuck in that car for hours, if not days, or slightly more human worries about oxygen and what the hell was he going to do once The Bentley let him out. He really needed to stop trying to plan ahead. All it did was give him a stomach ache. 

He had only just caught his breath again when Warlock heard the muffled sound of talking from outside the car. Two people? Was Brother Francis there too? Warlock couldn’t think of anyone else who would be with Nanny. No, that wasn’t right was it? What with the angel-demon thing the two of them must be enemies. Mortal enemies! Who like, promised not to kill each other while taking care of Warlock. Yeah! And they totally had a huge dramatic sword-gun-laser-magic fight when they left! The person Nanny was talking to was probably another demon she was friends with. Or demon partner? Did Demons have partners like detectives, cops and cowboys did? 

Outside the trunk Warlock heard a door open and slam shut, followed by another. The voices were louder, but still muffled. 

“Wish I could hear them.”

Warlock blinked, and there was a small hole right where the trunk met the back seat. He really needed to get used to random stuff like that happening. Warlock pressed his ear against the hole only to catch a snippet of some radio program get cut off, followed by a beat of silence. Finally he heard Nanny speak.

“No dog.” 

“No dog.” 

No dog?

“Wrong boy.”

“Wrong boy.”

_ Wrong boy. _

The Bentley held Warlock securely as it sped off far too fast for its own good. At the front of the car the two voices slipped from English to Latin, Latin to German, German to a language erased from history, only to have a quick stop at Esperanto and finally settle comfortably in a tongue created far before there was anyone around to hear it spoken. Yet despite the journey their words went on their tone of friendly bickering sang loud enough for even a small child to understand their meaning.

Warlock didn't hear them. He didn't hear the sound of the Bentley's engine, or Under Pressure playing on the radio, or even his own breathing. Warlock couldn’t hear anything. Warlock wasn't there anymore. Instead there was an eleven year old who was entirely empty save for a gaping chasm where his heart used to be, echoing two words over and over again.

_ Wrong boy. _

_ *** _

_ Warlock soon found out that not only did Nanny have a previous job, but so did all the other adults who worked at his house! For example, the cook used to run a fancy restaurant in France! But that's not all! His mom had been a journalist before marrying his dad, the housekeeper an office worker, the chauffeur a banker, and even his Dad had been an intern (whatever that was) before Warlock was born!  _

_ And Brother Francis? _

_ “I was a soldier.” _

_ “Whooooaaaa.” Warlock starred up wide-eyed at the gentle gardener. “In the army?” _

_ Brother Francis paused as he always did when he was carefully considering his words. “Not here. I was in an army far far away.” _

_ Australia, thought Warlock, that was the most far away place he knew of. Although China may have been farther. He wasn't sure. “Did you fight bad guys?” _

_ For just the shortest fraction of a second Brother Francis’ ever glowing smile grew dim. “War isn't that simple, Young Master. It's a terrible, terrible thing. It only hurts, never heals. One must always strive for peace before picking up a sword.” _

_ “But what about super evil people?” _

_ “Well--” _

_ “Like Nazis!” _

_ “Oh!” Brother Francis fiddled with the gold ring on his finger as he thought that over. “Oh yes, it's always okay to fight Nazis. Nazis are always bad.” _

_ Warlock let out a cheer, nearly dropping the basket of roses he was carrying. “Did you fight Nazis?” _

_ “Exactly how old do you think I am?” _

_ That Warlock knew the answer to. “Six thousand years old!” _

_ Brother Francis laughed heartily and gave Warlock a fond pat on the head. “Right you are, Young Master, right you are. Now how about we go drop these roses off at the kitchen and see if we there's still any biscuits left from dinner last night?” _

_ Warlock stared up at Brother Francis, confused. _

_ “Cookies.” _

_ “Cookies!” Warlock screamed as he ran ahead, only to stop and double-back to the slow walking Brother Francis. The gardener was never one to hurry anywhere, yet he always seemed to arrive right on time. “Brother Francis?  _

_ “Yes, Young Master?” _

_ “Why did you stop being a soldier?” _

_ There it was. The same flicker of emotion that passed over Nanny's face as well. Why didn't Warlock see it at the time? Even a small child could have picked up on the pain in Brother Francis’ eyes. Why did he only see it now when it was far too late? _

_ “I lost my sword.” _

_ That being said, even as a small child there were things he picked up on. Like super terrible lying. _

_ “You lost it?” _

_ “That's correct.” _

_ “Nuh-uh.” _

_ “I did!” _

_ “No you didn’t!” _

_ “Looked away for just a second and poof! Gone!” _

_ “I bet Nannnny knows what really happened!” _

_ “Ngk!” _

_ Or the extremely obvious fact that Brother Francis and Nanny were in love. How a five year old boy was able to see that and not any of the adults was another mystery altogether.  _

_ “I'll go ask her right now!” _

_ “W-wait! Young Master!” _

_ Warlock held onto the basket of roses and ran towards the house, laughing the whole way, never once considering that perhaps Brother Francis and Nanny didn't realize they were in love, either. _

_ *** _

A sudden jolt not only woke Warlock up but also altered him to the fact that he had fallen asleep in the first place. The traditional wave of panic that came with waking up—in a pitch black car trunk squeezed next to a wicker picnic basket no less—was quickly overthrown in a bloody conquest by lead by his panic over the current situation. He wiggled his arms enough to free them from their wicker-based prison to check the time.

Seven o’clock. Had he really been asleep that long? 

Nanny and Maybe Brother Francis were still chatting away on the front of the car where he left them. They had at least switched back to English, not did it do any good what with Queen blasting on the radio. Warlock gave up trying to figure out what they were saying and instead tried giving updating his mental list a shot.

Fact one, world ending 

_ Wrong boy  _

Fact two, wrong angels and boy demons

_ Wr B _

Fact three, he had no idea what to do next

Ng Y

Fact wrong boy, wrong boy  _ wrong boy wrong boy wrong boy wrong boy wrong boy wrong boy wrong boy _

Warlock squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best to focus on the music instead. Try as he might he could still feel the words scratching at his brain, demanding to be thought about. He didn't want to think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about pink elephants. Don't think about why an angel and demon would raise him for ten years only to suddenly leave. Do not think do  _ not under any circumstances  _ think about the words wrong boy, which meant he was the wrong boy, because if he was the wrong boy--

The Bentley came to a sudden stop.

\-- _then all of this_ \--

The car honked twice, much to the confusion of its driver.

\-- _his whole life_ \--

_ “HERE WE BELONG! FIGHTING TO SURVIVE IN A WORLD OF THE DARKEST POWER!” _

\-- _everything_ \--

“Would you shut up!” Nanny hissed from the front seat, her voice barely audible over the music. “No one asked you!”

\--was a mistake.   


Warlock’s hand was on his backpack before the trunk clicked opened to a rush of sound and air. 

City, he thought as he scrambled out of the trunk. 

London, he added as his feet hit the pavement. 

_ Run,  _ he screamed silently as he heard the Bentley’s doors slam open. 

He flew down the busy street with little regard for unimportant things like other people or directions. At least this time the adrenaline kept the pain in his legs and the fire in his chest at bay. Warlock glanced back--don't look back never look back--and caught a glimpse of a shock of red hair rapidly approaching.

_ Hide,  _ said the very human part of him that never really got over the whole escaping apex predictors thing. He let his brain turn off to fully hand the controls of his legs over to the tugging feeling at the bottom of his stomach. Endless tables flashed on the back of his mind only to vanish the second he saw the intersection in front of him. But instead of suggesting a way to lose the demon on his heels in traffic the tug told him to duck inside the old timey looking building on the corner. The door to the store opened before he even touched the knob.

Perhaps Warlock should start questioning his intuition. 

The building was, of course, a rather cluttered bookstore that we the audience are already well acquainted with. Warlock only made it a few steps in before it dawned on him that he too was acquainted with said bookstore. He had been nearly half his height the last time he was there, but there was no mistaking the enormity of it all. While Warlock was still working on the whole ‘maybe stop blindly trusting your gut feeling’ thing he had aced the ‘everything is going to be very strange so just roll with it ‘ part of the quiz. So without a single thought about odds or fate or any other nonsense Warlock ran straight into the far-too-long rows of seemingly endless books.

(Warlock, having grown up with a proper book collection, already knew all about L-Space and the tendency for books to warp the fabric of space and time. What Warlock didn't know was that the idea of L-Space had been based on this particular bookshop and a certain author's tendency to get lost within.)

The door to the shop opened just as Warlock vanished around the back of a shelf full of scrolls. He could make out the sound of someone walking in one slow step at a time. It gave the unseen person an air of doing their hardest not to scare an animal that was much larger than themselves. Clearly this was not Nanny. Maybe the other demon that was with her?

“H-hello?”

The voice didn't help shake the timid mental image at all. Certainly didn’t go with the word demon. Warlock held his breath as the footsteps came closer.

“I, I know you're in here. There's  **nothing to be scared of** . Please  **come out** and we can  **talk this out** over a nice cup of tea?.”

If the suggestion to throw at the party had been a gentle nudge than this one was more akin to being tied to a horse and getting dragged out of town. Warlock grabbed onto the edge of the shelf as hard as he could just to prevent himself from walking out in the open. That didn't stop the odd voice in the back of his head rambling on about how he should calm down, perhaps he could talk with the stranger over a nice cup of tea and work this whole hiding-in-the-car-trunk misunderstanding thing out.

“Oh dear.” Muttered the maybe-demon, “usually that works.”

The footsteps moved away, taking with them the sudden urge for tea. Warlock didn't even  _ like _ tea. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his heart down. Breathe. Deep breathes. Imagine a feather floating in front of him, moving steadily with his breath, slowly up and down, big breath, hold, let a hiss of air out and repeat. He made it three whole repetitions before it dawned on him that he wasn't the only one hissing.

Warlock opened his eyes only to meet the gaze of a giant snake looming over him. The black and red serpent looked just big enough and hungry enough to eat an eleven-year-old whole. If this has been any other day Warlock would have screamed, knocked over a pile of books as a distraction, and ran for the door. But being the day it was all Warlock could do was stare up in awe at the snake’s golden eyes.

Huh, Warlock thought, and here he always thought they were cat eyes.

“Nanny?”

The snake blinked. “Warlock?”

See,  _ that's  _ when Warlock screamed, knocked over a pile of books as a distraction, and ran for the door. Huge difference! He didn't even stop to think about how snakes don’t have eyelids! Warlock burst out from the twisting shelf labyrinth and made a break for the door.

**_“Halt!”_ **

Warlock couldn't ignore that suggestion. His feet gave out from under him before Warlock even heard the word itself. The very human part of him--the one that screamed to run from predators, to live, to feed, to protect, to huddle around the fire in the dark of the night--knew that voice, and knew above all else it was to be respected and feared.

The rest of Warlock knew that voice too.

Unfortunately.

_ The terrible Magician? _

Warlock lifted his head to confirm that yes, out of all the people at his birthday party who could have been working with Nanny, it was the magician who couldn't do the two-metal-hoop trick to save his life. At least the man had the decency to remove his outfit and drawn-on mustache for one more librarian-looking. Warlock didn’t recognize the man until he saw his eyes. He knew those eyes anywhere. Like falling into an endless summer sky, Nanny once said.

“Brother Francis?” 

The aura of fear vanished from around Brother Francis only to be replaced by a non-magical aura of confusion. “Warlock?” 

A now human-shaped sunglasses wearing Nanny ran out from the back of the shop and circled around Warlock to stand by Brother Francis’ side. The two men--or at least men shaped beings--looked at each other, looked down at Warlock, and both moved to snap their fingers at the same time. 

“ **Wait!** ”

And, much to the shock of the two adults, they did.

“I know,” Warlock braced his legs and forced himself to stand up. “I know it's really the two of you. I know you're an angel and a demon. I know that magic is real and there’s like a lot of weird stuff going on. And, and, and I know that the world is going to end on Saturday around five and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Nanny and Brother Francis exchanged another look before Nanny took a step forward. “Warlock--” 

Warlock matched the step with his own. “And I know if I go with my parents on that stupid photo op I'm going to die all alone in an airbase cause all the adults forgot I was even there! If I'm really going to die, and if the world is really coming to an end...” he took a deep breath and said what he had been trying to come to terms with during the first time around. The words right out of his reach until church bells rung in his ears.

“Then I want to be with you when it does. Both of you.”

The world shifted again as the ground and sky retreated to their normal places, leaving the three of them alone once more. Nanny may have been the one to step forward, but it was Brother Francis who reached Warlock first. A part of Warlock’s world snapped back into place as Brother Francis embraced him, letting a familiar blanket of love wrapped around the two of them tight.

“My dear boy,” Brother Francis whispered, “I…” His words trailed off as a shadow fell over the both of them. Warlock looked up to find that the light from the bookstore had been blocked off by two brilliant white wings. Angel wings. It was real. Everything was real. He held onto Brother Francis for dear life as the enormity of it all nearly knocked him off his feet. Angels were real. And if angels were real…

A soft  _ whumph  _ sound got both Warlock and Brother Francis to look up and see that Nanny had sorta joined them. She was right out of arm’s reach, her hands firmly shoved into her pockets, determined to look like she would not, under any circumstances, going to hug anyone. Yet the large black wings expanding from her back were already reaching out to the pair in complete betrayal.

Nanny’s willpower lasted a whole three seconds before she embraced them both.

***

_ “You didn’t hang the stars!” _

_ Warlock was a bit older in this memory. His feet reached the ground when he sat, for example. He also knew how to tie his shoes all by himself! Most importantly of all Warlock was old enough to fact-check. _

_ “I didn’t?” Nanny asked, her tone playful. She was making Warlock pancakes, as none of the cooks on staff could make them the right way. They always made these weird thin ones, and not the big fluffy ones Nanny made. What was the point of eating a pancake if it didn’t absorb half a bottle of maple syrup before you could even take a bite?  _

_ “Now who told you that?” _

_ “Books.” _

_ “Hmph.” Nanny frowned. “Knew it was a mistake teaching you to read.” _

_ “Stars are millions and billions and trillions of years old!” Warlock said with a pout. “And so far away we could never ever reach them! There's no way you hung them!” _

_ “Is that so?” _

_ “Uh-huh!” _

_ Nanny kept her focus on the pancake, seemingly glaring at it to make it cook faster. This, of course, worked. “So how did the stars get up there?” _

_ Uh oh. That part Warlock wasn’t sure of. The book he borrowed from Brother Francis had gone over his head at that point. Not that he would ever admit it. “Explosions.” _

_ “Mmm?” _

_ “There was space stuff and it exploded into stars.” Warlock said, doing his best to sound confident.  _

_ “I see.” Nanny’s quiet smile had returned. “So?” _

_ “So?” _

_ “Why couldn’t I have hung the stars by making space stuff explode?” _

_ Warlock opened his mouth to retort only to discover he couldn’t. He even had some thoughts about science and vacuums kicking around that could possibly be formed into an answer. But when Nanny spoke he could perfectly imagine what she meant. Warlock could see her floating in the void of space, carefully cupping her hands around freshly minted space stuff as it exploded into stars. She would then find the best spot for the freshly-made star in the endless sky, making sure there was enough space around it to be seen properly. Her hands and arms were covered in stardust the same way flour always got everywhere while baking.  _

_ How he wished his hands could be covered in stardust as well. _

_ “You’d be a million years old.” Warlock said instead, shaking off a longing that he had no right to feel. “No one’s that old.” _

_ “I look good for my age.” Nanny said as she wedged the well-abused spatula under the pancake and flipped it over.  _

_ “Six thousand?” Warlock replied. He was also old enough to suspect that Nanny and Brother Francis were lying about how old they were. _

_ “I do believe I said over six thousand.” Nanny poked at the edges of the pancake. “And a million is over.” _

_ Warlock couldn’t fight that logic. Time to change tactics. “Well, space is really really really far away! And there weren’t any rockets back then! So how’d you get there?” _

_ With a flick of her wrist Nanny sent the pancake sailing through the air only to have it land perfectly on Warlock’s plate. Warlock thought nothing of it. Just another skill of Nanny’s. “Flew.” _

_ “Flew? In a plane?” _

_ “With my wings, dearest.”  _

_ The memory got fuzzy there. Someone came in, his Dad or maybe one of the help, and the conversation turned into one not worth remembering. The only reason Warlock bothered to remember any of it was the image of Nanny covered in stardust, flying with wings from one constellation to the next. He would draw that image from time to time, soaking the page in glue and glitter in an attempt to mimic how much Nanny sparkled back then. Yet he always had a problem deciding on what color Nanny's wings would be. _

_Warlock never once considered that they would be black._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't heard, [I've been going through some hard times](https://aughtpunk.com/2019/11/24/in-which-i-am-very-bored-at-a-psych-ward/). Thank you everyone so much for your kudos and comments. They always help pick me up when things get dark. Really. Love you all.
> 
> If you enjoy my writing please check out my other fics or head to [my website](https://aughtpunk.com/want-to-help-out/) for information on my non-fic writing and how to help me out while I'm putting my life back together.
> 
> Be sure to tag me as @AughtPunk on [Twitter,](https://twitter.com/aughtpunk) [Tumblr,](http://aughtpunk.tumblr.com) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/AughtPunk) if you want to say hi, or ever make any fan content of my work. No need to ask permission, art and fic is always welcomed!


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